I Don't Want A Holiday
by Olivia Ballard
Summary: "What's so great about America?" "Liberty, the pursuit of happiness, super-sized meals, I don't know Simon." "Then why can't we go back home?" "Because we can't, now will you please stop whining?"
1. Chapter 1

SIMON

Baz tries to sleep as soon as the plane takes off, but I'm too antsy to close my eyes and relax. My fingers tap against the armrest, and I can tell from the way Baz sighs every few minutes that he wishes I would stop, but won't ask.

I've never flown before, not in a plane anyway. Ask me to sprout wings and a tail, sure? Dangle from the neck of a dragon? Why the fuck not? But the higher we go and the longer we stay in the air, the more nervous I find myself.

"All right Snow-"

"Simon," I correct him automatically.

"What's the problem, Simon?" He turns his head to face me, but his eyes stay shut. I wish he'd look at me. There's nothing I love more than the second right when Baz wakes up, all sleepy and unguarded and mine. "Oh, stop staring and use your words."

I reach up and tap his nose, earning the tiniest of smiles. "I hate flying."

"Tell that to your tail."

I bite back a growl, nudging his shoulder with mine until he inhales sharply and straightens and his eyes open. "Fine, I'll bite. Why do you hate flying Simon?" He doesn't look happy, but he can't hide the amusement in his voice.

I shrug, twisting until my knee touches his. "There's so many things that can knock this plane out of the sky. I could have knocked this plane out of the sky last month."

"Yes, well, we can't keep track of all the things you can do to kill people. It would take far too long," he smirks. I consider kissing it right off his mouth, but then he'd be distracted, and what if the plane goes down? I need him sharp for spells, not for snogging.

I'd rather not die kissing Basilton Pitch today, not when I'd like to be doing it years from now.

"You're pouting."

I feel my bottom lip jut further into its pout. "Am not."

His eyebrow rises, high enough up that it can battle his widow's peak. "You are, and I may have to spell your hand gone if you don't stop fidgeting."

"But you love my hands," I remind him, slipping a finger over his collarbone. He shivers and I can't help the grin that curls on my lips. "Or at least you did last night."

"Aleister Crowley Simon, there are children aboard this thing."

"I'm sure they're all asleep," I brush off his concerns, moving my hand down to play with the button of his shirt. "Anyway, you're distracting me from the topic at hand."

"Which is?"

"My hatred of flying," I say exasperatedly, shaking my head at him. "This is hundreds of kilograms of metal flying through the air. No magic keeping it up, nothing but engines and air propelling it forward."

Baz considers what I've said, swatting away my hand when it manages to slip underneath his shirt. "Normals manage to get around just fine, and it must be doubly true with the Chosen One on board." He says it teasingly enough, but a part of me still flinches.

I don't ask him not to call me that anymore, he and Penny can't help it. I think they need to make light of it sometimes, and it hurts a little less each time, so I let it go.

"That's just inviting trouble," I protest. "I attract it."

"That's how you got me," he agrees sagely.

I hum, and he's so cute in that moment, that I touch my nose to his cheek and sniff. He used my shampoo this morning. "Promise that the plane won't go down."

"Simon Snow, I solemnly swear that this plane will stay right where it should be."

I'd trust him a little more if the plane didn't dip and quake as soon as he was done talking.

BAZ

Simon nearly jumps into my lap, a small squeak escaping through his lips.

" _Crowley_ Simon," I gasp, his elbow landing in my stomach and pushing the breathe from my chest. "It's all right, only a little bit of turbulence."

He looks over at me like I'm a crazy person, the color seeping from his face and his blue eyes dubious. "A little bit of turbulence? Baz, not all of us are indestructible."

"I'll have you know that I got a paper cut the other day."

He rolls his eyes, hassling his hair with two hands. "Well fuck me Baz, I'm surprised you didn't die."

"Undead," I remind him. "God, Simon. We've still got another six hours before we land, you really have to relax."

"I don't want to relax," he says childishly, facing forward and folding his arms over his chest. "I want you to be as scared as I am."

"Not possible, no one in the world is as scared as you, love."

And there's that damned pout again.

I reach over and brush a curl from his forehead, fingering one of his moles and watching as his shoulders relax. "How about I meet you in the middle, yeah?" I offer. "I'll hold your hand and I can be the hero for once."

"Would you even know how?"

"Oh shut up Snow."

I take his hand and stroke along his palm, hoping that will soothe him. If that doesn't work, then there's always those tiny bottle of vodkas.

"Will you talk to me?" He asks, his eyes glued to our hands, his fingers occasionally twitching within mine. He's still nervous, and I bet if he still had his magic, he'd be glowing.

Then we'd all really be screwed.

"What do you want me to say?" I wonder, leaning into him and swallowing back a smile when he does the same. His hair tickles the bottom of the chin, and it's not the first time that day I find myself wishing I could bury my face in it.

"Anything," he shrugs, "to make this god-awful plane ride go faster." I have words for that, but no necessarily for him.

I rummage through my carry-on, finding my wand almost immediately and tugging it out. " _ **It's a bird, it's a plane**_ ," I whisper, feeling the plane pick up speed almost imperceptibly.

"Waste of magic," Simon murmurs quietly, nuzzling further against my neck.

"Go to sleep, Snow."

I stay awake, I figure he'd feel safer that way, and take out a book. I'm two words in before it loses my interest, my eyes moving over to Simon like they always do.

I used to think Simon would look different without his magic. It used to surround him, protect him, I suppose. Strangely enough, it's what attracted me to him in the first place, that drawing feeling that came with that much power. But after that first year, he stopped feeling like the greatest mage to ever live, and started just being him.

After all there was no magic when he ate, shoveling as much food as he could into that fit mouth of his. There was no magic when he growled at me, holding that damn sword like a toddler and some ratty stuffed bear, and even less so at night, the moon lighting half his face and casting a glow on his hair.

Simon Snow may have been magic, but it disappeared for me a long time ago.

Besides, his magic didn't give him those moles (I discovered one on the back of his neck a week into our relationship. I've decided it's my favorite), or the sullen look he gets when he's wrong. He would have had those curls I love to tug, magic or no magic, and at least this way I don't have to worry about him bursting into flames or sucking the magic from all of England.

If anything, I may love Simon more without his magic. I know he still feels an ache, I can see it in his eyes when he has to ask for help, or has no idea what to do with those ridiculous wings of his so I'll never say it to him. Bunce says he's fine now, that it's been two years and that he's moved on, but I'm not sure I buy it.

I don't catch him crying in the bathroom anymore, so that must be a good sign. But still, at some point, it must stop being a relief, losing all that power and responsibility, and must feel like loosing an arm.

Simon Snow snores like mad, and it's only manages to get worse at higher altitude.

I watch his chest rise and fall, listening to the gentle thrum of his heartbeat. It's one of the first things I did when we started sleeping together, listened to his heart, got to use to the feel of his pulse. I did it so long that I don't notice them anymore. It's the only way I can lay beside him if I haven't fed. I stop thinking about his blood and how good it must be, focusing instead on his mouth or his neck or the way he curls around me like a kitten.

"Attention passengers, we're beginning our descent into New York."

Christ, how long have I been watching him?

He blinks up at me, his mouth widening into a perfect circle as he yawns. "You kept your promise."

"Don't I always?" I reply with a smirk, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into me. "Now Simon Snow, are you ready to start our holiday?"

He stares at me wryly, and a smooth a finger along his eyebrow as it lifts. "Do you want an honest answer?"

"Absolutely not."

SIMON

I can hear myself as I complain, my feet shuffling and my hand thrust deep in my pocket, and I want to tell myself to fuck off. Baz, bless him, has bit his tongue, sending me withering glares every few minutes.

"I don't understand what's so great about America," I murmur, kicking the curb as we wait for a cab. "It's far too warm here."

"It's three degrees cooler here, Snow!" Baz cries, taking our suitcases and shoving them into the back of the taxi.

Snow. I must really be in trouble.

"Well it's too crowded."

He levels me with an agitated look, his signature sneer in place. "You live in fucking London."

Shrugging, I flop into the cab and sigh. "It smells better back home. And Penelope's there."

He rolls his eyes, his foot tapping against the floor and giving our driver the address of our hotel. "Like always, you are wrong and whiny."

I huff at that, reaching over a pinching him in the side. "And how so, Mr. Pitch?"

"Penelope thought she'd be bored at home without us or school to keep her busy, so she's visiting Micah. We're meeting them for tea in an hour." I gap at him, and his sneer disappears behind a grin. "Have I offended?"

"I smell better in London!"

"Do you have nothing better to do than complain?"

"For fuck's sake, I've been on a plane for ten thousand hours Baz."

He licks his lips. It's distracting. "So have I."

"Well not everyone can be as perfect as you."

He smiles that smile that made me believe he was evil for seven years, a devilish grin that just screamed _plotting_. "And you definitely shouldn't forget that," he murmurs, sliding over to my end of the seat. "Don't worry Simon, we can shower once we get to the hotel."

And suddenly this vacation doesn't seem so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

PENELOPE

I might have made a mistake. When I decided to come to America with Baz and Simon, I thought it might be nice to surprise Micah. He'd been ignoring my calls, so this seemed like a good idea.

"Penelope," he said, in that special way he said my name. No one said my name like that, not that idiot Baz or Agatha in the few times since we've spoken since she went to California, not even Simon. "Penny," he tried again, "just come to America. You could get in anywhere."

I shook my head, making sure to keep at least a yard between us. I could never think as clearly with him around, especially when he touched me. "I bought a flat. I'm already enrolled in classes."

"You can transfer. I know any school would take you."

I frowned, rubbing my thumb along the band of my ring. "Micah, Simon needs me. He lost his magic and The Mage, and besides Baz, I'm the only person he's got."

"You're always the only person he's got!" He exclaimed, sweeping his hand up and accidentally knocking over a pile of his papers. I bent to gather them up, slowing when he did the same, taking my hand. "I'm just tired of being apart."

"It's only four years," I promised him, reaching up to trace a finger along his chin. We don't touch much, it used to embarrass me to no end, but I wanted to comfort him. "Three if things go according to my plan."

"And they probably will," he joked weakly, straightening and setting the papers down.

"And then I'll be here, with you. And I can visit all the time," I added as an afterthought, wrapping my arms around his waist and looking up at him. "It'll be sooner than you think."

I knew he wanted to argue, sometimes he just can't help it, but instead he reached behind and tugged on my ponytail. "Purple, huh?"

The corner of my mouth twitched up into a smile. "Thought I'd give it a try."

Well, the purple has long since faded, and over two years has gone by since that conversation. It turns out it was easier said than done continuing our long distance relationship. Oxford is definitely more work than Watford, if you can believe that.

I thought now that all that nonsense with the Insidious Humdrum was over I'd actually have time to study.

So, I threw myself into school and if I know Micah, I know him better than most, he did the same. The phone calls and Skype dates became less frequent, and soon it was months between our chats.

I think he sent his last text three months ago.

Two months, twenty–six days, and four hours ago to be exact.

"What do you mean he's whining?" I ask, walking out of the elevator in Micah's building and heading down his hall.

Baz lets out a long–suffering sigh and I'm sad he's not there to see me roll my eyes. "The git hasn't stopped complaining since we got the airport in London. That's twelve hours, Bunce. Twelve hours."

My suitcase catches on the rug and I have to kick it free. "That sure seems like a you problem, Basilton."

"We've got shared custody of Snow and you know it," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I'm really trying not to go back on my word."

"Your word?"

"Of not killing the much beloved Simon Snow."

Oh how I _wish_ he could see my eyes roll. "Look, I'll see you two in an hour. Try to keep from biting him until then. Do you think you can manage it?"

"I'm not sure why I thought you'd be helpful." The phone cuts off after that, and it's all I can do not to call him back just to hang up again. I like to think I've matured, but Simon and Baz seem to pull out the child in me.

I drop my phone back into my purse and walk the rest of the way to Micah's door. I still have a key from the first time I visited him during uni, so despite only a slight moment of hesitation, I let myself in.

"Micah?" I call, pulling my suitcase in further into the flat. "You home?"

When no one answers, I go to sit on the couch and cross my legs, scrolling through my numbers to find his name.

Yes, I might have made a mistake.

Now what will I do when Simon and Baz call to go to tea?

I lift my phone to my ear and listen to it ring, suddenly parched.

" ** _Be Our Guest_** ," I murmur, listening as the mugs bang around the cupboard, the tap running to get me a glass of water. "Hey Micah," I say when I get sent to voicemail, "so, I might have made a rash decision…"

"Pen?" I twist at the sound of my name, my face breaking into a smile at the sight of him, disheveled and achingly handsome. He glances at my glass, hovering in the air and waiting me to beckon it forward. " ** _Drop it Like It's Hot_** ," he murmurs into the necklace hanging from his neck. The cup floats down onto the counter, landing lightly and not spilling a single drop. "What're you doing here?"

"I had a holiday and I wanted to see you," I stand quickly and move over to him, hesitating for a moment before throwing myself into his arms.

He stiffens underneath me, and then it's like the last two years hasn't happened and he's hugging me back, one hand going to rest in my hair, the other looping around my hips. "God I've missed you."

I breathe him in, the scent of chocolate and sandalwood reminding me of why I love him. "I've missed you too."

He pulls back and really looks at me, from head to toe. "When'd you do this?" He asks, reaching up to touch my bangs. I hassle my hair, the shaggy bob I'd gotten after a particularly trying semester rustling underneath my fingers.

"Christ Bunce, what'd you do?" Baz asked when I came storming into the flat, throwing my bag onto the floor and sitting down beside him. He was participating in his favorite pastime, waiting for Simon to come home.

"I loved your haircut so much that I went out and got one myself."

He swallowed back a snort, amused with my answer but not enough to warrant a response.

"A while back I suppose," I shrug. He looks the same, maybe a tad bit darker, a little taller, just a hair curlier. "Oh it's so good to see you!"

He laughs, ushering me over to the couch. "It's always good to see you, Penny." I don't mention the fact that he hasn't returned any of my texts in weeks. "How have you been?"

It still manages to surprise me that after two years, my answer has nothing to do with dark creatures or evil families. The worst of my stories is of when I walked in on Simon and Baz, too lazy to walk the three yards over to Simon's bedroom. "Absolutely wonderful now that I'm here."

SIMON

"Merlin, Arthur and Mickey Mouse Baz, this place must have cost a fortune," I gawk at our hotel room, my hand slipping out to go over the surface of the sofa. Leather. Nice.

Baz turns to give me a strange look, chewing on his bottom lip as if he's holding back a laugh. Knowing the git, he probably is. I think Tyrannus Basilton Pitch may live to laugh at me.

I'm surprisingly all right with it.

"Mickey Mouse?"

I shrug, taking my suitcase and laying it on the bed. "I'm trying it out. He was the apprentice you know."

He sidles up behind me, his lips hovering just over my neck. "Is that what you do when I'm not around? Watch Disney movies?"

I frown, my hand going to wrap around his wrist. He's cold, nothing a hot shower and a local pigeon won't fix. "It's a classic. Or are you Pitches too good for Disney?"

"We prefer Pixar," he replies smoothly, and he sounds so serious that I have to laugh.

"Mmm, fine, I'll force you to watch it once we've gone home. And when will that be exactly?"

He moans, and it sends a shiver up my back. "You've been dropping not–so–subtle hints that you want to go home for the past fifteen minutes. I graduated top of the class, I think I've got it."

"I'm very subtle!"

He chuckles through his nose, and it sends a wave of cool air over my shoulder. Leave it to me to fall in love with a walking air–conditioning unit. "You're as subtle as a Humpty Dumpty spell to the face."

I shudder as I remember third year, trying to gather up all my limbs and failing because my mouth just wasn't big enough to hold my arm. "It took Penny three hours and seventeen healing spells to put me back together."

"Yes, well, that just goes to prove my point, doesn't it?" He let's me go, already making quick work of disrobing. He's as desperate for a shower as I am. I watch the muscles in his back move as he pulls of his shirt, stretching his arms overhead and using them to ruffle his black locks.

 _Crowley_ , I think he might be putting on a show.

"To answer your first question, no, this room didn't put me out too much. My father knows the owner, so he gave me a good deal."

"Good," I nod, following him as he makes his way to the bathroom, dropping clothing like breadcrumbs. I kick of my shoes and wince when one collides with a lamp, sending it teetering over the edge of the table.

"Simon!" Baz whips around, taking in the mess with an eye roll and a sneer.

I hunch my shoulders and try for an abashed grin, even if I find it slightly funny. "Sorry Bazzie," I say sheepishly, undoing my belt as he directs his sneer at me.

If there's anything Baz hates more than my messes, it's my nickname for him. I don't know what the problem is though; I think it's cute. Penelope likes it too, but I think Baz appeals to the sadist in her.

"Just because I said the room didn't cost me an arm, a leg, and our first child doesn't mean you can go breaking everything you see."

"Yes sir," I say back, going and kissing his cheek. Usually if I can make him smile, he won't spend as much time scolding me.

He smiles.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wash six hours of airplane out of my hair," I breeze past him, slamming the door in his face right after the indignation flares up in it.

"You did that on purpose," he cries through the door, oblivious to my snickers. "I could just spell the door open!"

"But you won't," I sing, losing my shirt and turning on the bath. Christ, it's a nice one, a long tub just big enough for the two people and a bunch of fancy knobs.

He pounds on the door. "Can I at least join?"

Now there's a tempting offer.

"Calm down Baz, they'll be plenty of time for that later."

I hear him mutter a curse (nothing magickal, but plenty inappropriate) and then he leaves me to it. I turn the water on and step in, jumping at the heat. That's another thing I'll never be used to, how cold I get now that my magic's gone. It makes sleeping beside Baz a nightmare some days (I once caught a cold from him. He thought it was a laugh until I made him make me chicken soup. Then I was pathetically ill and he was grumpy, not a great day for either of us) and don't get me started on London winters.

Baz has all the soups and product, so I grab what the hotel left us on the counter and start squirting, whistling to myself as my skin turns pink and my hair falls into my eyes. Once I'm done, I take a towel and wrap it around my waist.

"You're dripping," is the first thing Baz says as I open the door, looking first at the puddle surrounding my feet and then my flushed face.

"I'm wet," I answer him. He hums, nudging my hip with his so I'll step out of the way.

"And you've somehow managed to get the entire floor wet as well. Why am I not surprised?"

I try to think of something clever to say in response, but he shuts the door before I have the chance, and I had nothing anyway.

 _So are you, but what am I?_ Is not the way to go when Baz is feeling snippy.

His shower is loads quicker than mine, which I can't wrap my head around. He went into the bathroom with seven bottles in his arms, and I happen to know that Baz can be such a prima donna.

"I don't care if we miss our reservation," Baz said on the night of our first official date as uni students. "We can always just go to some other restaurant."

"But you look fine Baz," I pleaded, clasping my hands in front of me. "Why can't we just go now?"

He turned and growled, folding his arms across his chest. "Fine, Snow?"

I glanced over at Penelope for help. She waved a hand in the air, never looking up from her book. "You're on your on with this one, Simon."

"Thank you Penelope. Really. Such a _phenomenal_ help."

I flopped back onto the couch, staring sullenly up at the ceiling. "I suppose I'll starve to death then."

"Sounds good to me," said both Baz and Penelope, the both bursting into laughter soon after their snide comment.

Their friendship was one of my more _regrettable_ decisions.

"Can you get dressed please?" Baz asks sweetly. He dries himself quickly and then reaches for his wand. " ** _Dress For Success_**." His suitcases open and his clothes begin to dance around the room, each piece folding itself and going into a drawer until the only thing left are a pair of trousers, a red button down and a pair of black trainers.

"Waste of magic," I say, falling onto the bed with the towel still on my waist.

"To counteract your waste of time," he shoots back, pulling on his boxers with his back turned to me. When before I couldn't help but watch him, this time I can't help but look away. We have only twenty minutes to go meet Penny, and if I'm not careful, a lingering look at Baz can end with neither of us planning on leaving the room all day.

Although that wouldn't be the most terrible of outcomes.

BAZ

"I swear I'm ready."

I risk a cursory look at him, knowing in my current mood, if he's still lying around doing absolutely nothing, I may strangle him. "You're not wearing socks, shoes, pants, or a shirt Simon."

"Penny's seen me in less." He pauses, listening back on his words and flushing. "Not like that," he adds quickly. "And my wings covered up my good parts."

He's so adorable that I might let him live another day.

Who am I kidding? He's so adorable that it's all I can do not to kiss his stupid mouth shut.

"I'm leaving in five minutes with or without you Simon Snow," I warn him, "and if you get lost in the city, I will take absolutely no fault in that."

I can hear him muttering underneath his breath, and I'm almost certain he's mimicking me. Sometimes I think I might be dating a child, and that image of Simon standing beside himself, only seven years younger, comes to mind.

I'm dating the Insidious Humdrum. Outstanding.

Luckily for Simon, he manages to put on his clothes and look semi presentable, so we actually leave on time.

"Baz," he says once we've hit the street. I drop my sunglasses over my eyes, ignoring the sting on my skin from the sunlight. It's the same way a mosquito bite burns after you scratch it too hard, annoying but just light enough that it's not a true problem.

"Simon," I reply, letting him take my hand so that I can tug him along.

"You've still yet to tell me why you wanted to come to New York, of all places, for summer holiday." Someone bashes into us, carrying a bag that must be filled with bowling balls. I grit my teeth, feeling my fangs push up against the back of my lip. "It can't be for the people."

I turn to see him shooting a dark look back at the woman who hit us, and my anger lifts. A little, just enough for me to find him funny again.

"Can't I just want to travel with my boyfriend?"

"You have all of Europe to choose from, and yet you make us cross an ocean for bumper to bumper traffic and two dollar hot dogs?"

I give his hand an extra squeeze, waiting for the light on the crosswalk to change. "You love hot dogs."

"I love _food_ ," he corrects me, "and they have that everywhere."

"You can't be helped," I finally give up trying to sell him on New York, struggling to pull my hand from his. "Come on, we're here."

He wheels around, looking lost in front of Starbucks. "How'd you even find this place?"

I huff out a sigh, reminding myself that I wasn't holding his hand because I love him (which I do, idiotically) but because he might actually wander off if I'm not tethered to him. "Because while you were smashing goblins, I was actually paying attention in geography and navigation class." He accepts my answer, holding the door open for me. "That, and GPS," I admit, brushing past him.

"Guys," Bunce sees us as soon as we walk in, standing and waving to catch our attention. I consider pretending not to see her just to see her face twist into a scowl (friendship or not, there's nothing as enjoyable as annoying Penelope Bunce.) But Simon ruins my plans, nearly bowling over some toddler as he runs to her.

You'd think they haven't seen each other in years the way they beam at one another.

"Bunce, Micah," I nod to them both, sitting in the only empty seat at their table and wrapping my hands around the mug Micah sets in front of me. "Thanks, mate."

He gives me a smile, and the both of us settle into silence as Simon and Penelope chat. Something about Agatha I think.

"But I don't want to go to California," Simon growls, "it's probably worse than New York."

"I'd ask what's wrong with New York, but then you might actually tell me."

He lifts a hand ticking off his finger as he scrolls through the list from earlier. "And Baz is being very Baz–like today."

I whip around to stare at him hard, my eyes narrowing.

Baz–like?

Penelope nods sympathetically, taking a sip of her tea. "Oh, that's tough."

"And what, pray tell, does Baz–like mean?" They both risk quick glances at me, falling silent with sneaky smiles on their faces.

My worst decision? Deciding to date Simon Snow and his best friend.

"One of you better tell me what Baz–like means, or else." My threat does nothing to Penelope, but Simon's eyes widen with shock. The one thing he seemed to be looking forward to this entire time was alone time in the hotel, and he's not foolish enough to give it up.

"You know, all pre–good guy, sort of evil, very Pitch," he says vaguely. "Before I tamed you."

I thrust up, my chair scrapping along the floor and my eyebrow raising for far up and so quickly that I'm sure it's somewhere buried in my hair. "Tamed me? Is that so?"

"I–uh–it's–it's not–I can," his head falls and he has enough sense to look contrite, "no."

"Oh sit down Baz, you know it's true. Before Simon you were evil, after Simon you're bearable. Correlation, causation, other statistical terms." Bunce says in that irritating know–it–all voice of hers. "Now Agatha, I think it'd be laugh if we go and see her."

My mind pulls up an image of Wellbelove unbidden. Last time I saw her, she was packing up her things, refusing to meet my eyes as she headed for university in the states. Knowing her, she's as tanned and blonde as the last seven years, probably more so. Just as perfect, just as untouchable.

"I'm with the twit on this one," I jerk my thumb over at Simon, refusing to say his name. Baz–like my incredibly firm ass. "Wellbelove's been radio silent for the last two years, I'd hate for us to upset that wonderful dynamic."

"Hanging out with you two has made me stupider, and as much as I love those Normal girls in class, I can't exactly spend all my time with them either. I need a female friend, and unless you two know anyone up for the job, I don't want to hear anymore complaints." She waits patiently, and I can see that brain of her chirping out all the possible arguments she'll use if we protest. Her satisfaction when we don't is infuriating. "So, I've printed out the schedule for today."

"Schedule?" Simon asks dubiously.

"Yeah, Micah's so graciously agreed to be our tour guide."

Merlin, I forgot that he's here. I suppose the only type of bloke that can be in love with Bunce is a quiet one. I've never seen someone that can talk like she can.

"I thought you guys might like to do the whole tourist thing," Micah leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. "You know, the Chrysler building, the Empire State, Times Square."

Penelope plays with the hair on the back of his neck. "You're already the best tour guide around."

I resist the urge to scoff. She'll have stolen the reigns from him by the fifteenth minute. I'm pretty sure I saw her reading a trivia book about the Statue of Liberty last week.

"Come on then," Penelope drains the rest of her tea, "let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

SIMON

"So Baz–like huh?" Baz mutters, grabbing the back of my shirt and tugging me towards him roughly. "When did that start?"

"After our first fight," it'll be easier to get it all out in the open.

He stops walking, his hand falling away and his expression stricken. " _Crowley_ Simon, two years? You and Bunce have been calling me evil for two years?"

"I don't know why you're so surprised," I toss over my shoulder, "I've been calling you evil since I was eleven."

"Yeah, but we weren't snogging back then," he protests, "and I haven't tried to feed you to a chimera in ages."

I've become very familiar with Baz's facial expressions. He tries to hide them when he knows I'm in a teasing mood but he's not quick enough today and I get a glimpse of my second favorite one. Baz sulking should have been painted by Picasso. It should be hanging in the Louve; although I'm not sure I want anyone else seeing that beautiful bottom lip.

"Come on," I say softly, falling into step with him and taking his hand. "I don't really mean that you're evil. It's only when you're being particularly," I search for the right word, "Baz–like."

"I'll never know how one man can be so eloquent."

He's keeping an eye on Penelope and Micah, making sure that they don't get to far ahead, so I don't have to worry about getting lost when I turn to him and smile. "I love you Baz," it sounds like more of promise than declaration, "and no, I don't think you're evil. Annoying sometimes, but otherwise perfect."

"Careful, Snow," he murmurs, his eyes flashing dangerously. I'm not sure that particular shade of gray exists in nature. "That hotel isn't too far away."

I swallow, and his eyes track the movement, doing nothing to cool the warmth in the pit of my stomach. "We should catch up with them."

"Right," he licks his lips, and it's all I can do to stop from doing something else with his tongue. He shoots me a wink and I know he knows what's he doing.

I walk after him, my thoughts moving back to our bedroom.

The bloody wanker, that's probably exactly what he wants.

I jog forward, past Baz and over to Penelope and Micah. She turns to me, bubbling over with excitement as she pulls out a map and points to spots that mean nothing to me.

"Maybe we can catch a show?" She suggests. "Out of everything on Broadway, I've read that The Lion King is the most spectacular."

I shrug, distracted. "I'm sure anything will be fine." Two hours in the dark with Baz beside me, his hand tap–dancing along my thigh and his smirk readily in place. Sounds like bloody torture.

"Can we go get some actual food first?" Micah scratches the back of his head, and for the first time in a few hours, I remember my stomach.

"He's brilliant," I clap my hand on Micah's shoulder, and he gives me a tight–lipped smile. I don't know how many years it's been, but he still doesn't like me completely. I can't figure out why.

After eating not only my burger but Penelope's and Baz's as well, although Baz all but asked for a slab of bloody raw meat, Penny pulls us from landmark to landmark, barely taking time to breathe as she speaks.

It's exhausting and comforting, spending this much time with her. Even with our shared flat, relationships and schoolwork have taken the place of worrying about vampires and magickal holes and two–in–one wars. She's either buried in a book or I'm buried in Baz, and it's been a while since I've heard her like this, a rush of excited information.

Besides, focusing on Penelope and where we are has the added benefit of taking up the space in my head Baz usually occupies.

Like, when we walk through M&M world, I wonder what coconut M&M's would taste like, not what they would taste like dribbled on his pale skin.

And when we go through Bryant Park, I definitely don't want to grab some skates and his hand. And I'm definitely not curious what his hair would do if he twirled.

By the time we get back to the hotel, I can barely keep my eyes open.

"So tomorrow, yeah?" Baz asks, letting me lean into him. His neck is the softest thing I've ever felt at that moment. I could use it as a pillow, and I probably will.

Penelope tugs on the hem of her skirt, feeling the slight chill in the air. "Bright and early, so no sleeping in."

"We'll do as we please, Bunce," Baz replies. Penelope glares at him, lifting her ring and twisting it around her finger threateningly. If Baz isn't careful he'll wake up with fins and scales and then what will I do with him?

An aquatic vampire. Honestly, I'd pay good money (more like okay money, I'm not exactly flushed with cash) to see that.

"Fine," Baz backtracks quickly, pulling me towards the door. "Bright and early."

"I'll hex you if you aren't down here by eight!"

"So noted," he throws over his shoulder. " _Merlin_ Simon, you plan on walking any time soon or will I have to carry you?"

I wave my hand in the air, leaving him to make the decision. He rolls his eyes, reaching into his back pocket and snatching up his wand. " ** _Time For Bed_**." I can feel the ghost of imaginary fire licking at my skin, Baz's magic whisking us from the lobby and into the room.

"You really have to work on your upper body strength if you couldn't carry me to an _elevator_."

"You're a grown man Simon," he throws me onto the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it onto his suitcase.

"So?"

He turns and raises an eyebrow. "A grown man with two legs and a pair of invisible wings."

"I'm not seeing your point."

"I have excellent upper body strength," I think he flexes to prove his point, but my eyes are slipping shut, so I'm not sure.

"Wait, but what have my wings got to do with anything?"

"I'm practically a football God."

"Pitch on a pitch and all that, yeah, got it. Still not seeing how my wings are connected."

"Just as I think you can't get more irritating," Baz huffs, falling beside me and shuffling around until he's comfortable. I wait patiently before crawling up beside him, pressing a quick kiss to his chest and smiling as he shivers.

"We can talk about my wings in the morning," I concede, curling into him.

He sighs, but doesn't respond, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him. "We will do no such thing."

I'm just about to fall asleep, lulled by the evenness of his breathing as he reads, when a thought occurs to me.

BAZ

"Baz," he says sleepily, glancing up at me through his lashes.

"Simon," I reply, pulling my eyes from the very book I'd tried (and failed) to read earlier. My literary ambitions will always take a backseat to Simon (a fact that I very easily accepted the first night he yanked my book from me and climbed into my lap.)

"Can I ask you something?"

"Haven't you already?"

He lets out a baby growl, and it travels through my chest like a purr.

The adorable idiot. I can't stand when he's this cute, especially when he's this close to sleeping. There're only so many nights I can spend with my hand and that dopey grin of his in my head.

"Words Simon, you know so many of them and yet rarely ever use them."

He falls silent, his finger tracing patterns against my stomach. I can just make them out if I concentrate.

The Eiffel tower, or, more likely, a triangle (he's never been artistic).

An infinity symbol.

A heart.

"Did you want to come to America on holiday because you didn't want to be alone with me?" I'd almost forgotten he was awake with how much time has passed.

I frown, shifting down so that we're nose to nose. "I'm chalking that one up to sleep deprivation Snow, because it's absolutely ridiculous."

"I'm serious Baz," he shakes his head, an inadvertent Eskimo kiss. "The first day of vacation, and we spend it with Penelope and Micah. Other than the flight, we've spent all of two hours alone."

I scour my brain for something to say that'll wipe that worried look from his face. For all that is good and Mageless, will he ever stop surprising me?

"I thought it would be nice to have them here." I settle on that answer. It seems safe enough.

SIMON

"Nice? You don't do nice Basilton." His name is ridiculous, long and old, but it drips from my tongue like music.

If I could only pronounce his first name, I'd never stop saying them both.

And he made fun of my name?

"I'm plenty nice," Baz hisses indignantly. I roll away from him and peel off my shirt. I'm going to be blue by the morning, but I want him as close as possible.

"Whatever," I press my forehead to his and close my eyes. "Did you not want to be at home alone with me, honestly?"

"I invited Penelope because I could tell you were nervous about traveling," he says, his lips floating to the mole on my left cheek. "But if I'd asked what was wrong, you would have blustered like no man has ever before, and we would have missed our flight."

I thought I'd hidden how anxious I was to be leaving London, but leave it to Baz to notice.

" _Aleister the Great_ Simon, why do you think I haven't spelled your mouth shut yet?" He asks with a laugh, a wave of cold air moving over my upper lip. "You were scared to leave and, as much as I hate to say it, Bunce makes you feel better. Drives me up the fucking wall." He kisses away the lines on my forehead. "You don't like new, it's okay."

It's not that I don't like new. New can be good, or bad, but it's irrefutably _dangerous_. The first time I felt my magic, like a bomb in the center of my stomach, sending shrapnel through me, through everyone. The first time I flew, willing my wings into existence, drawing the magic from the rest of England. The first time I kissed Baz, surrounded by flames and ache. It was all new and exhilarating and could have ended terribly.

"Simon, love, get out of that head of yours."

BAZ

He doesn't listen, sliding down and burrowing his forehead into my chest. "Let's just go to bed." I hate it when he does this, when he goes to bed with a thousand thoughts racing across his face. I can't decipher any of them and it's agony. I spend all night watching him, wishing that a sleepy murmur would shed a light to the inscrutable Simon Snow.

Kid walks around with half his brain watermarked on his forehead, but when it matters, he's a damned lock and I keep losing the key.

"Simon–"

"It's okay Baz," he urges me, tangling his fingers in the back of my hair. "Just ignore me."

He doesn't seem to realize that that's impossible.

"I don't think I'll ever stop worrying that you'll stop loving me," even with my hearing, I have to strain to hear him. I thought he'd fallen asleep, and here he is, completely destroying me.

I must have been a right bastard in another life to get Simon Snow.

I must have been a fucking saint in another life to get Simon Snow.

"I'll wake up and you'll have find someone better or smarter or more powerful or less messed up. You'll always be new." He stifles a yawn, and this time, when his head lolls to the side and his mouth parts (still haven't made much headway in the mouth breathing situation), I know he's truly asleep.

Damn him. I try to be, ugh, sweet and whisk him away for a vacation. I _try_ to be sweet and he decides that now is the time to drop this hidden fear in my lap. There are only two things I like in my lap, and while both of them do relate to him; his insecurities are not one of them.

I wait until I know I won't wake him, and then slip out of the bed. His lips pucker into a pout, and his hand gropes around my side of the bed and find nothing, but his eyes stay shut and his breathing even.

I pace up the length of the room, but every time I see him, I can't think. It'll still be a problem tomorrow, so maybe I should go back to sleep…

I'm as terrible at convincing myself to go back to bed as I apparently am in convincing Simon that I love him. I end up in the hallway, banging the back of my head against the wall, shooting fireballs from my fingers just to have something to do.

I consider calling Bunce, maybe getting her opinion on things. Those two share a brain most of the time, and lucky for her she plucked up the ability to explain oneself before he could get to it.

But then she'd probably come right over, and she wouldn't have any problem getting into bed with him. I'd sit in the corner, listening to them have the conversation Simon and I should have, and that's just lazy. No, I'll have to solve this one on my own.

Just after banging my head a few more hundred times.

It's around four in the morning when I realize how hungry I am. I thought I could get around it with my burger, as bloody as if they'd literally just cut it from the cow, but Simon gobbled it up five minutes after they set my plate down.

Now if I go to bed, I'll try to take his emotional temperature while imagining biting into him like a fresh cinnamon roll.

He'd be so yummy…

Yeah, I've got to find something to drain, more accurately, something not sharing my bed.

SIMON

Baz is gone when I wake up and it's all I can do not to strangle myself with my own tail.

Keep your mouth shut, Simon.

Stop always talking, Simon.

Actually _think_ before you speak, Simon.

I'm getting those all embroidered on pillows. Maybe I'll get one made for Baz too, if he ever comes back.

I'm crying before I have the chance to stop myself. My tear ducts have always had a mind of their own.

"You're crying?" Baz asks warily from the couch. My eyes dart over to him and the relief nearly knocks me over.

"I had a thought."

He gets up, sitting on the edge of the bed and drawing his knees into his chest. He's flushed, and his eyes are bright. "Snow, if you start crying every time you have a thought–"

I don't let him finish the thought, it would probably make me cry harder, and toss the covers over my head.

"Oh don't do that," he tries to dig my out, so I kick him, rolling deeper and deeper into the comforter.

He catches my ankle, pulling me away from my pillow. " _Crowley_ Simon, it's a quarter to eight and Bunce swore she would give me devil horns if we're even a second late." He sounds desperate, furrowing through the many layers of sheets I've managed to tangle around myself. "Devil horns Simon, this is not a drill."

"I'm going back to sleep, Baz."

He falls back onto his bum. "At least we'd match," he mutters petulantly.

"We already do."

"Get out of bed and talk to me…please," he tacks on sweetly.

Sweet Baz is my kryptonite. I almost, _almost_ , do what he asks. But then I remember what I said yesterday and blush.

"I'm sleeping," I say, shoving my face into the pillow. "And I'm having the best dream."

"Flying food?"

I think of it wistfully. Oh, if _only_. "There are cherry scones everywhere, and they just, they come right to me."

"All right," he mutters, " ** _Fly High_**." The comforter zips away from me, and no matter how I clench at it, Baz's magic is stronger. It ends up hovering over me, just out of my grasp.

I scowl at him, slamming my fists against the mattress. "You'd look stupid with devil horns."

"No more so than a man with puffy eyes, a tail and a pair of dragon wings." He arches an eyebrow. "Now will you listen to me?"

"What's to say?" I shrug helplessly. "I said things, you heard them, you're going to pack up all your stuff and move in with the rest of the Grimm–Pitches to do Grimm–Pitch things. And I'll never have a freshly made waffle again, because the iron is yours."

He watches me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's trying to hold back a smile but can't quite manage it.

"First off, the waffle iron is Bunce's, she's just pitiful with it." Makes sense. Penny has many talents; breakfast just so happens not to be one. "Second, I need to show you something."

"What?"

His hand goes to wrap around the hem of his t–shirt, wincing slightly. "You can't laugh."

"Why would I laugh?"

He sucks his cheek into his mouth, hesitating slightly before yanking off his shirt.

He stares at me expectantly, and I first I'm not sure what he's doing. Is he beautiful without a shirt on? Absolutely, but that's not news. Does he actually look warm? Yep, he must have just fed.

…And then, I see it. Honestly, I'm not sure how I missed it.

BAZ

"You promised you wouldn't laugh," I whine, stomping a foot and crossing my arms over my chest. "You promised, Simon." Although, I guess he really didn't.

Where once sat a crying Simon is now…a crying Simon, but at least I know the reason now. He's laughing too hard, bent over at the stomach, curls dropping into his face as he wipes at his cheeks.

"I just–you got–how could–you didn't– _Oh Baz_!" He claps his hands together, elated.

It may not have been my best idea, but I've had worse in the past so after I drank some pigeons (rats with wings. Never again.) I headed to the nearest tattoo parlor.

"You sure about this?" The tattoo artist asked, eyeing me warily. I must have been a sight, dabbing blood from my lips, flushed and buzzing with energy. "I don't usually do drunk guys."

"I'm not drunk," not in that sense anyway. "And I'm sure."

That's how I ended up here, with a tattoo covering half my ribs. And I wasn't the least bit original about it. His name in cursive, right below my left collarbone, a damned heart around it like I'm a ten–year–old girl with a crush.

Who am I kidding? I _am_ a fucking ten–year–old girl with a crush. I might as well go around calling myself Baz Snow, plan our wedding and search for rings.

I'm not being ironic. I may actually do this.

"A tattoo?" He asks, bouncing up to his knees and grinning at me in that way that makes me think I've died and gone to heaven. (Can vampires go to heaven?)

"Yes Simon, a tattoo."

He stands, hopping over to me on the bed before collapsing in front of me. "Of my name?"

"Well you don't have to get so big–headed about it," I tilt my chin up. "It wasn't much."

"It's massive," his finger goes to trace it, starting with the loop of his name and then going to travel the lines of the heart. He snorts when he gets to the wings, as red and gold and majestic as his. "And your skin was so perfect."

"And now it's even better."

"You probably shouldn't have done this," he can't take his eyes from it, or his hands for that matter. I wish he would, there's not enough time and my self–restraint has really gone down since the one person I had to stay away from came to me.

"There was a point to it you know," I take his wrists and pull them down to rest on my knees. "This, us, me, it's not new. It'd been in the making for eight years and only gotten better these past two years. So unless you ask me to go, I'm staying right here."

What I don't say is that that would be the end for me, if he ever decided to end this. It would be too much, getting what I'd always wanted just to have it disappear.

"So," I continue, shaking away my thoughts, "this tattoo will be around for as long as I'll love you. Forever."

"I…" he trails off, and his eyes are starting to water again. No one cries like Simon, constantly and with the beauty of an entire ocean. "That's endlessly corny you know?"

I can't help but laugh. Smart mouthed, single–teared Simon Snow is a rare treat.

His mouth is against mine before I can form a proper smirk, and I don't fight him. Kissing him is like breathing again, and I crave it. "Thank you," he whispers, his lips tickling mine.

"No problem. And maybe next time let me know how you're feeling before I get something permanently drawn onto my body again."

"I don't know," he hands me my shirt. "I've got loads of ideas on what you could get next." I sneer at him, putting on my shirt and waiting for him to get changed. "And where," he winks.

Eight–thirteen. Bunce is going to hex me into next Saturday.

"I'm getting this thing removed."

SIMON

Could I be anymore lucky?

BAZ

I sneak a peek at him when we're in the elevator. He can't hide his smile, no matter how hard he tries.

Heaven almighty, I couldn't be any luckier.


	4. Chapter 4

PENELOPE

I have my wand out and pointed at them as soon as they walk up to Micah and I. " ** _Speak of The Devil, and He Shall Appear."_** Baz yelps, patting the top of his head and groaning when his fingers find horns.

"Bunce," he sneers, "I can't have devil horns and fangs, they'll clash."

"Well once you invest in a watch, I'll do something about your new accessory."

Micah leans forward, his arm hanging loosely from my waist. "I think she's serious."

"It wasn't my fault," he protests, tugging Simon into his side. I narrow my eyes at them, wondering what's happened. Simon never manages to smirk like that unless he and Baz had a late night.

I, unfortunately, have first hand experience with this very fact.

"Princess here wouldn't get out of bed," he glares at Simon, who is too busy looking smug to respond.

"Well I can't give Simon devil horns, people will think Halloween came early." I stare pointedly at his tail, which has someone worked itself free from his jeans. "Now we're late for our breakfast reservation."

Even though the restaurant is a twenty minutes walk away, it's warm enough to go by foot, and I like the feeling of strolling around with Micah. We still haven't talked about the last three months and his radio silence, but it's easy to fall into a pattern with him.

He can talk about the entire world with me, wants to know as much as I do, and then maybe more. It's nice, feeding into each other's curiosity the same was Simon and Baz add to one another's utter ridiculousness.

And there's always the added benefit of him being from America. He's untouched with everything that happened at Watford. He wasn't there when I cast that final spell that changed everything, he never saw the Insidious Humdrum.

 _Sounds like a cure for unfortunate bowel movements_.

Something I'll never forgive Simon for? The fact that the voice in my head has taken on the arrogant lilt of that git Basil.

"What're you thinking?" Micah murmurs. I don't like loaded questions, not when I'm on the receiving end of them. There never seems to be a safe way to answer, so I pick the only choice that doesn't deal with him.

"Simon," I say it loud enough that it'll carry to him. "There's one thing that he isn't, and that's quiet."

Baz huffs, and I'm almost positive that it started out as a snort. "I know something that you don't," Simon sings, skipping forward. Or trying to. Baz tightens his grip on him, his smile disappearing underneath a threatening look.

"Snow, don't."

Simon adopts his "I'm mischievous, deal with it," look. "Penelope would love it."

"What would I love?"

"Oh please Baz," Simon pleads, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "please can I tell her?"

" _Crowley_ Simon, no." Exasperation leaks out of him the same way Simon's magic used to, the same way his excitement does now.

I push Micah away and bound over to them, taking them both by the arm and holding tight. "Now you have to tell me, what is it?"

"That's it, now I really will have it removed, and then I'll…I'll…agh!" He goes to run his hands through his hair, only to snarl when his hand catches on a horn.

I decide to take pity on him. " ** _Make A Wish!"_** They disappear just as quickly as they popped out, but it does nothing to help with his foul mood. "Get what removed? Tell me now or next thing to come out of your body won't be as pleasant."

"Pretty, pretty please with Aero bars and cinnamon icing on top?"

"Christ, fine!" He pulls us into the closest alleyway, scowling at Simon before raising his top.

My hand flies to my mouth as I stare wide–eyed at his chest. "You didn't!" The giggles come unbidden, fast and relentless. I try to hide the first few, swallowing them back as they hiccup throughout my body, but soon Simon and I are leaning against one another, laughing like it's all we're meant to do in this world.

I don't think we've ever laughed like this before. Not when we were eleven and Simon put Baz's hand in a bowl of warm water while he slept. Not when we were seventeen and Dev slipped on an actual banana peel trying to catch Agatha's attention. Not even when Baz walked into the flat and found us trying on his suits. He just had so _many._

No, this definitely takes the cake.

"It was a gesture!" He roars agitatedly, sweeping his hand over his tattoo as if it'll disappear.

"Oh, it's adorable Baz," I wipe at the corner of my eye. "God, eight years of thinking you were evil, and you're just filled with love and cuddly thoughts and cute gestures."

Friendship or not, Baz is not fond of teasing. "Don't underestimate me Bunce, I'm pretty sure I've got plenty of vengefulness in me."

"Sure, sure," I brush away his threat, "and it's right beside all those delightful feelings."

"I'm leaving."

Simon's choking on his laughs, he's in no position to be helpful. "Don't go, Baz."

"Micah and I can go and eat. For all I care, you two can starve." He storms out of the alley, leaving us clutching our sides. His head pops back in, begrudging concern warring with the annoyed expression on his face. "Come on Snow, if you don't eat now I'll have to listen to your damn stomach grumble for the rest of the day."

It just makes us laugh harder.

* * *

BAZ

What can I do now? I used to be able to wish terrible things on Bunce at least, but now that she's one of my closest friends I can't even get any satisfaction that way. Now all I can do is stomp away and grit my teeth.

And this. "Fuck off, the both of you."

* * *

SIMON

Baz spends the rest of the day pouting, which only seems to delight Penny, which only infuriates Baz more.

"Baz," I say patiently, snagging the seat behind Baz on the tour bus. It's the double decker type, like the ones from home. It's oddly comforting. "Basil," I repeat when he ignores me. "Basilton, are you upset?"

He twists to sneer at me, the only answer required I guess since he says nothing. I _just_ stop myself from saying _Words Mr. Pitch, they were created just for you_ in that teasing way he does whenever I'm flustered.

"I can't believe you told Bunce," he snarls, folding his arms over his chest and angling his knees away from me.

"Why?" I rest my chin on his shoulder and smile.

"She. Laughed. At. Me."

"She thought it was cute."

Baz's expression darkens. "I _don't_ like being laughed at."

"It aids character."

"Then you must have had a laugh track following you around during the disaster that was your teenage years."

I jump forward as the bus stops, sitting in the seat beside him and grinning. "I'm not sure if you realize it, but you've just complimented me."

"Don't hold your breath, Snow."

I exhale, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Nothing."

"Not anything?" I brush my cheek against his. "Not a single thing?"

He takes a page out of my book, shrugging silently. "We have a busy day, and if you bring up the tattoo again, or complain, or even let out a single snicker, I'm sleeping on the coach."

My eyebrows furrow. "But it has no lumbar support."

" _Simon."_

"Fine, deal."

He relaxes almost immediately, leaning back into the chair and giving me a small smile. "Fantastic."

We sit quietly for a few moments, listening to the tour guide, but I can't help myself from turning to him. "Wait, but can I–I just have–the thing is–"

" _What_ , Snow?"

"What can I do to the tattoo?" I ask excitedly, legs swinging.

"Aleister almighty, I wasn't aware that I was dating a nymphomaniac."

"That's hardly true," I snort, a blush burning its way through my cheeks.

"And this is hardly the place," he's just as embarrassed as I am, his eyes gluing themselves to the back of the chair in front of him. "Can we please just learn about the history of The Book of Mormon?"

I throw myself back, frowning at my knees. "I don't even like musicals."

He rolls his eyes. "You adore them, Simon."

I knew I should have locked the door when I was listening to the Hairspray soundtrack. He'll never let me live that down.

"Not the ones that're still running."

* * *

BAZ

He looks at me so defiantly that I can't help but remember all those nights in our dorm.

"Do you even own clothing or do you just enjoy being half–naked all the time?" I asked, my body screaming for me to race over and grab him. I wasn't exactly sure what I would do when I had him in my arms, but it would be an upgrade from the current situation.

His head was buried in his pillow, curls askew and his handprint on his cheek. "If you'd let me keep the bloody window open maybe I'd actually sleep with a shirt on."

"So, the only way I can avoid being visually assaulted every night is to freeze to death?"

"Shut up." He lobbed his pillow at me. I plucked it from the air, hugging it to my chest and taking a quick sniff.

How could someone who literally only ever used Irish Spring soap smell so good?

(Stop it. Stop it right now you ginormous idiot. You cannot care about how Simon smells.) (Even if I would bottle it and sell it if I could.)

"Anathema."

He groaned and rolled onto his side, scowling at me. "I doubt you'd be very hurt by a pillow. All you'd have to do is bite into it."

"And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" I quirked up an eyebrow, acutely aware of the scraping of my fangs against my cheeks. I wished he would just say it, throw the word out there so that I could maybe, finally admit it.

I wouldn't, he'd be the first to drive a bloody stick of wood into my chest. But it would be nice to have the option.

Knowing him, he would miss and I could end up with plywood in my shoulder.

He growled, pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing at his eyes. "Nothing," he sighed. "Now can I actually get some sleep, or do you plan on asking any more idiotic questions?"

"I leave that to you, Snow," I leaned back onto the headboard, grabbing a book and glowering down at the cover. "Go on, get back to your beauty sleep. I'm sure Wellbelove would appreciate it." I couldn't help the disdain on my voice, just like I couldn't help the jealous hatred in my heart. You try knowing that the person you love sucks the tonsils from someone else everyday and stay sane.

He leapt up, his hand going to rest on the hilt of that ridiculous invisible sword. "Don't talk about her." He bit out through bared teeth.

I was up on my feet and in his face in seconds. "Or what, Chosen One?" I snarled, my anger getting the best of me. He was just so… _so._ Why couldn't I kiss that annoyingly stupid mouth of his? Why couldn't he ever jump to my defense like this, even though Wellbelove wasn't in any real danger from me. "Do something, get kicked out. It would make my life ten time's easier."

"I never did anything to you," he spat out, and I could taste his magic, seeping out of his pores. My stomach twisted with it, threatening to push out my dinner (although losing rat blood wouldn't be the worst thing to happen tonight).

 _Calm down, Snow. Leave, walk out, take a deep breath and ignore me. See through me. Be better than me._

"You were born," I hissed back, because if I didn't say something, my thoughts would come out. Or worse, I would kiss him.

With the amount of time I spent considering kissing Simon fucking Snow, I could end this war. I could stop world hunger. I could rule the fucking world.

"You showed up in my world," I continued, my legs inching me forward without my permission, "and you won't fucking leave." I never got this close to him before; he had the tiniest of moles right underneath his right eyebrow. I stored that piece of information away for later. "So please, throw a punch, make my day, if you could even manage it."

 _Please don't._

His eyes bored into mine, and they were so blue that I could scream. There was a moment where I thought he might take me up on my offer and give me the black eye I bloody well deserve, but at the last second, he stepped back, his chest heaving.

"Good night, Baz." My name sounded like a curse in his mouth, and maybe it was. I was sweating and if he didn't calm down soon, I would be sick. All I could see was red and Simon and I'm pretty sure his magic was trying to hurt me even though he wasn't.

"Nothing good about it, Snow." I sat back on the bed and dug my fingers into my knees, hard enough that I left bruises. He turned so that he was facing the wall, and slowly the room went back to normal. I could breathe without pushing down dry heaves, and I couldn't feel him anymore.

I considered apologizing (it would be the first of many if I started) when I noticed how his shoulders quaked. I inhaled sharply, pulling my hand into my side so that I wouldn't touch him.

I'd never met someone who cried like Snow did. But maybe it was because I'd never met someone who could destroy someone as well as I destroyed him.

And that's why I can never stay annoyed with him for too long, not when he has a lifetimes worth of reasons to hate me, but doesn't.

"Sometimes I listen to Hairspray when you're not there," I concede, thanking all that is good in the world (Simon's high up on the list) that I don't blush nearly as much as I should. "Zac Efron has the voice of an angel."

He eyes widen, just as quickly as his smile. "Really?" He asks, completely and utterly in awe.

"Well, what else am I supposed to do when I'm waiting for you to come home? It's not like you have anything for me to do, and Bunce's books are too long and hexed against intruders."

He snuggles into my side, and I don't care about my memories, not with his hair tickling my chin and him mewling like a damned cat.

(I think he might have actually been a cat in another life.)

"Would you please shut up and get a room?" Penelope hisses, "some of us are actually trying to learn."

Micah, with an arm strewn over the back of her chair, looks just as enthralled as Bunce. "She would be talking notes if I haven't made her leave her notebook at home." There isn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He sounds remorseful, regretful. I've never seen two people more fit for each other.

"We should listen to The Little Mermaid tonight," Simon decides, jiggling his ankle. "You'd make a perfect Ursula."

I'm the heir to the Grimm–Pitch line. One of the most powerful magicians to graduate from Watford. Avenger of my mother's death. And I will very willingly dance to a movie made for prepubescent girls to make him happy. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

* * *

PENELOPE

"This vacation is wasted on the two of you," I cross one leg over the other, scratching underneath one of my socks before meeting Simon's eyes. Baz and Micah, neither of whom contains Simon's appetite, went to check out some of the stores around midtown. Hopefully they become friends, but Baz is more of an…acquired taste. It took me eight years to trust him, and the Simon of it all fast-tracked the process.

He shoves a cupcake into his mouth, his fifth, and licks at the icing on the corner of his mouth. "Why do you say that?"

"You two have spent the entire two days ignoring the amazing buildings around us and alternately flirting and sulking."

He reaches over and steals my half–eaten sandwich, wrinkling his nose at the pastrami on rye and then taking a huge bite anyway. "As if that's any better than you and Micah."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He gives me a knowing look, the kind that makes me think he's in my head, poking around. For someone as missing as Simon is, he can be incredibly astute. "Penny, you've been torn up about Micah for the last couple of months. I know you thought me and Baz couldn't tell, but you've only been reading books where women killed their husbands for ages. It's quite telling."

"So, I enjoy a good revenge novel every once in a while," I say defensively, mixing my tea absently. "It's as mindless as reality TV, which reminds me, I forgot to DVR that Kardashian show you like so much."

He bangs his hands on the table, aghast. "Penelope! I'm going to miss so much!"

"Yes, because there's just so much you can miss between women going shopping and women talking about shopping."

He waves his hand dismissively. "That's beside the point. Have you and Micah talked about why he was avoiding you?"

"We don't fight, we _never_ fight, and this feels like the sort of topic I'd want to avoid so that the nonfighting will continue."

"I've never known you to avoid anything." He pushes aside his plate, which still has at least three cupcakes, so I know he's serious. "You've thrown yourself in front of dragons, fought one of the biggest threats to magic, and very easily accepted me and Baz. You're fearless."

"I've got plenty of fear," I mutter, "I just never had the chance to let it out. But I've had months of worrying about Micah, and now I don't think it's worth bringing it up." Even as the words leave my mouth, I know it's a lie. Three months of nothing, and four more of barely anything is definitely worth bringing up, but I'm scared of what he'll have to say.

"Well, I wish I had better advice," he shrugs, reaching up to scrape at the back of his head, "but it's been almost three years with Baz and I still feel like a damned eighth year." I cock my head to the side, waiting for him to explain. "Sort of lost, kind of going by the seat of my pants."

"Simon," I giggle, "that's how you live your life. I'd be astounded if your relationship was anything different."

"That's not true!" He exclaims, tugging on a curl. "I'm extremely organized," I hum, rolling my eyes, "and super mature," I snag a red velvet cupcake, poking my finger into the frosting, "and wonderfully proficient at loving boys!"

"Get off it, Simon," I snicker, taking a bite and lifting a hand so I can talk and chew. "You barely knew how to date Agatha, and you prove again and again that you have absolutely no idea what you're doing with Baz. It would be sad if he wasn't as ridiculous as you."

He studies me carefully, and then nods begrudgingly. "Stop eating my cupcakes."

"I'm the one who bought them," I remind him. He yanks back the plate, watching as I begin to laugh. "Like the blind leading the blind."

I plan on teasing him some more, one of my favorite hobbies, when Baz and Micah walk in. A bag dangles from Baz's fingertips, an easy smile hangs on his lips, and it doesn't look as if he's about to make a snack of my boyfriend, so I consider the afternoon a success.

"What are you ladies going on about?" Baz saunters over and kisses Simon's forehead. Simon bats him away, growling at the "ladies" comment.

"How long it would take you boys to return," I lean forward and rest my chin in my palm. "Simon said it wouldn't take more than fifteen minutes, but I, of course, realized that Basilton would take a million hours trying everything on, just as he does at home."

"Keep sassing me Bunce and no one will see the presents I bought," Baz replies warningly.

"Maybe we don't want to see them." One look at Simon and I have my answer. We do, as soon as possible.

"Get on with it," I say, hurried on by Simon's obvious impatience. Baz smirks, reaching into the bag before flinging something into my face. Two years ago, I would have figured he was trying to hurt Simon, me, or us both. Now, I regard the red piece of cloth curiously.

"What are these?"

Simon holds it up to his stomach. "I love New York?" He's already laughing. I think Baz could kill the first–born child of family in the World of Mages and Simon would still find him endlessly amusing.

"You actually spent money on this Baz?" I quip, taking mine between two fingers. "These are terrible."

He's too busy watching Simon, who's trying to get his wings into the shirt without knocking anything over or being too obvious. "I like them."

"So then where's yours?"

He scoffs. "Please, I'd _never_ wear one of those."

"Right," I drawl, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. "Anyway, unless you boys plan on getting something to eat, I think we should head out. The show is about to start soon and I need to run to the washroom before we find our seats."

I tug Simon up from his chair, and loop our arms together, pulling him ahead so that Micah won't hear when Simon inevitably brings him back up.

"You should talk to him." Right on time.

"Yeah, and you should stop talking all together."


	5. Chapter 5

_**BAZ**_

The next few days go by in a blur of activities and Simon. Simon babbling as we cross the street, as excitable as a puppy. Simon leaning into me during Les Misérables, hiding his face in my neck so no will see him cry. Simon trying to hold my hand during dinner and pouting when I snatch it back so that I can cut into my steak without looking like an idiot.

By the time I even think of telling Simon why I really brought him here (other than to seduce him in a hotel room. I've wanted to do that since sixth year) I've only fed twice and it's starting to show.

"You can't wear that," Simon declares as I'm getting dressed, ripping the grey shirt from my hands and dropping it to the floor.

"And why not?" I snap, moving slower than usual as I go to pick it up. It's harder to think when he's standing so close. I try not to, but I can hear the steady rush of his blood, the thrum of his heart beating.

He glances pointedly at the mirror and he doesn't have to say it. I've gotten so grey that it would blend in with my skin, somehow managing to make me look even sicklier.

"How long has it been?" He asks gently, handing me one of his red jumpers. I don't know why he brought it; it's too warm for anything more than a t–shirt. I'm freezing though, alternating between shivering and working tremendously hard on not attacking everyone within arm's reach.

"A few days." Six days, four hours, and twenty–seven minutes to be exact. But I don't tell him all that, it'll only make him worry. And when Simon worries, he paces. And when he paces, his blood moves faster and it's all I can do to keep from plunging my teeth into his neck. "I'll be fine."

"You look like the walking dead, Baz," he says it softly, but it's still enough to step on my already fragile nerves.

"So what do you suggest I do?" I ask, taking a step back from him. "Head over to the Brooklyn Zoo, maybe drain a couple mountain lions?"

"No," he snorts, swallowing hard. My eyes follow the movement, and I'm nearly undone. "But I'd rather you not get rabies from the pigeons around here either."

" I can't get rabies."

"You don't know that for sure," he argues. For every step backwards I take, he inches forward, until my back is to the wall and he's close enough to touch my cheek. His eyes widen and I think maybe it's from how cold I am. I've never been this cold, but I've also never been this hungry, so they go hand in hand.

I lick my lips. "You're not offering up any suggestion Snow, as usual."

"If you'd stop talking for five seconds, you git, I might be able to." He drops his hand, rubbing it against his legs to heat it up, before pulling off his shirt.

"W–what're you doing?"

"I don't want to get blood on it," he explains, as if it'll make his actions anymore clear. Every inch of me is screaming to bite him, deep enough that not a single drop will be wasted (I've never been a messy eater). I fight it with everything I'm worth, but he's not making it easy (has he ever?).

"Where's your cross?" I ask through gritted teeth. I try not to inhale, because maybe if I can't smell him, he won't seem nearly as delectable.

He shrugs, and it almost sends me into cardiac arrest. "I threw it out a week after we first kissed."

 _Aleister_ , I'll kill him. And I might actually. Kill him.

"I'm not going to bite you." Easier said than done.

"Just take what you need, nothing more," he says it as if it's that simple. That'll it be just as easy to take his blood from him as it was his magic. "I trust you Baz."

I shake my head, pressing myself as far back into the wall as I can. "Hey," he catches my chin and gives me a confident smile, tilting his head to the side, "I trust you. And if you do end up killing me, well…I don't know, I'll be pissed or something."

Or something. It would be almost funny, if the idiot weren't currently putting his life at risk. _Again_.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

He's angry. That much is obvious. But I can tell when the hunger overtakes the anger. It disappears behind concern, which quickly turns to fear, and finally settles on resignation.

"Simon, if I start…"

I kiss him before he can say anything more. "You _can_ stop. I know you can. You're not a murderer, or a monster, which means that you won't kill me." I hope.

His mouth moves to my neck reluctantly, placing small kisses there. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't." It's as simple as that.

His kisses are tentative, lips soft and hesitant. I lean into him, resting my hands into the wall when my knees buckle. Before I can blink, he's got me pinned to the wall, his hips crushing against mine. A shudder passes through him as his kisses become surer. A decision made.

I expect it when he bites me, but it steal sucks a jerky gasp from me. He stiffens, ready to pull out, so I grab his shoulders and give a reassuring squeeze.

I thought it would hurt, the same way it does when that dog bit me when I was thirteen. But, it's more like a prolonged pinprick. It only hurts for a second, but then I can't concentrate on anything other than the feeling of sucking.

It doesn't feel _good_. It doesn't feel bad either. Just different.

He clings to me tighter, his arms wrapping around my waist and his forehead nudging my chin to the side. I wait as long as I can, but my head starts to swim and it's getting harder to breathe, "Baz," I mutter, blinking as everything shifts out of focus. If it weren't for the wall and for his hands, I'd be on the floor. "Baz," I say again, trying for louder and mildly surprised when I can't accomplish it.

His eyes, closed before, pop open, bright, wild and glittering. For a second, I worry that he was right and he won't stop, can't stop. " _Baz_." He tears away from me, making sure to pull his fangs out carefully before flying across the room.

"Sorry," he won't look at me, and he's breathing too hard. " _Crowley_ ," he clenches his fists and bangs them against his forehead. "Shit, Simon."

"I'm fine," I'm starting to feel both ill and drained, the way I used to after my magic took everything out of me. "I promise."

"Shit, Simon. _Fucking_ shit." He's shaking, and he's really a vision. His face is red. Yeah, actually _red_. I don't think I've ever seen that particular color in him. His fangs poke at his lips and he still hasn't wiped away my blood, so it just sort of drips from the side of his mouth.

He should have taken his shirt off, like me. I swear, he never thinks my ideas are any good.

"Really Baz, I'm okay." I try to take a step towards him, but I trip. He cringes when I hit the floor, a wince rocking through him so violently you'd think he was the one with the bruised elbow. "Or, I was until that."

He's by my side by the time I push myself up onto my knees, silently offering me a trembling hand. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Why?" He has to all but pull me up and help me over to the bed. "You were hungry, I've got blood. It felt like a solution."

His eyes still hold too much energy and I'm scared he might run away. It takes way too much effort, but I reach up and touch his cheek. He's passed warm, he's hot. Burning. His magic finally makes sense. Fire adding to fire.

He flinches away from my thumb, which swipes at a smudge of blood on his bottom lip. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been awake for the last three days."

" _Why_ are you such a bloody idiot, Snow?"

I gape at him, or try to. I don't plan to see what happens if I turn my head too quickly. " _You're_ seriously mad at me?"

"No one is trying to kill you anymore," he stands, his legs carrying him across the room and back in seconds. "No one wants to hurt you anymore, and instead of reveling in that safety, like any normal, sane person would, you offer yourself up to vampire as a blood bag."

"Not to a vampire," I protest weakly, "to you. You needed it."

"No," he explodes, "I need you alive. I need you to get rid of that idiotic bravery and stop trying to get yourself killed. I need you to quit staring at me like I'm fucking insane for not wanting you dead!"

My forehead crinkles with confusion. "I wasn't being brave, Baz. I was being logical. Last time I checked, vampires need to actually drink blood to not die, or wither away, or whatever it is you guys do."

"Consult a lot of vampires for that helpful little tidbit?"

I hate when he picks fights like this.

Baz and I rarely ever fight. He's good at ignoring my temper, and he gives me a wide berth when's he's in a mood. But sometimes, when we're both too stupid neither one of us is willing to overlook the other, and it starts to feel like the past two years never happened.

"What do you want to do tonight?"

I flipped through the TV channels, fighting off boredom. "This."

Baz huffed out a sigh, glaring at the side of my face. "And tomorrow?"

"Probably this. Yeah, I'm thinking this."

"And the next day? And the day after that? Maybe a year from now when you've managed to bore your new boyfriend to death?"

I glanced up at him sharply. "I hadn't realized I was on the market." He raised an eyebrow. "Just like I hadn't realized your immortality had reached it's expiration date."

"Yes, well, I hadn't realized I was dating both you and the telly set."

"Lucky for you. That would mean that you would actually have to be a decent human being to more than one other person."

Baz slammed his magazine down, sneering. "I'm going to head back to my flat."

I watched him, my tail flicking angrily against my thigh. "If you're heading out, why don't you take your aftershave with you?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "And what's wrong with my aftershave?"

"Nothing," I growled back, "if you actually enjoy breathing."

"And while I'm at it, maybe I can go and clear out all the shit you've been eating for the past _eight_ years."

I shoved my hands through my hair, my frustration growing. "There's nothing wrong with the food I eat!"

"Course not," Baz replied sarcastically, "except for everything. Tell me, can your wings even got you off the ground anymore?"

I stared self–consciously down at my stomach, my lips falling into a pout. So I'd put on a pound or two…or seven. It wasn't my fault that I'd gained weight. It was hard to gain weight when I was busy fighting _supervillians_. Current company included.

"Well I hope you go and find yourself a fit, entertaining boyfriend. I won't be able to attend your wedding, so don't bother sending an invitation."

He tilted his head up, letting out an irritated groan. "What the hell are we even arguing about?"

"I don't know Baz. I had a hard day and all I wanted to do was come home and watch some TV and spend time with you. I really apologies that that's not enough for you, but there's only so much that I can _do_."

"Snow–"

He needed to leave before I started to cry. "You know where the door is."

I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his footsteps, and then the sound of the door closing. And then I started crying.

It was such a stupid fight, the type we had regularly but the only one to end with him actually _gone_.

I shuffled forward, deciding to chase after him. I wouldn't be able to sleep without him there, and really didn't have the energy to cry all night, which was really how things were looking.

I opened the door, a grin breaking out across my face when I found him standing there, hand on the doorknob and his mouth hanging open.

"Why did you have a bad day?"

"Doesn't matter," I answered automatically, grabbing him by the back of the neck and dragging him close.

Neither of us can stay angry for very long, that much was obvious from the way we spent the night, lying in my bed with my tail wrapped around his ankle and my head on his chest.

And, for the sake of peace, I didn't mention when he started wearing a little less aftershave. He didn't mention when I took up jogging. Fifteen minutes for every cherry scone. I've fallen behind by an hour, or a hundred.

That doesn't mean that I can't find him incredibly _annoying_.

"I've watched Dracula enough times," I reply, hoping to pull a smile from him. I don't.

"Simon," he starts, falling silent again when he can't find the words. "Simon," he sighs, taking out his wand and murmuring, " _ **I've Got a Booboo**_." A numbing feeling goes through my neck; past the spot I don't even realize hurts until the pain is gone.

"I don't want to argue about this with you," I rub at the spot where he bit me. It's still sore to the touch, but it's not bleeding and if I don't bother it, it's like it never happened. "You don't have to worry about me, all right? And you've got to admit it helped."

"That's not the point."

" _Yes_ , it is. Crowley Baz, how do you feel?"

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

The fool. The fucking imbecile. I have half a mind to kill him just to spite him, but he'd probably think it was a good idea.

It was…good, drinking from him. No, good isn't the right word. It was exhilarating. It felt like every good thing to happen to me all came at once, like Christmas morning and my mother's arms and Simon's first kiss and the first time he fell asleep on me and the first time he said I loved you (and the night I received my first suit, but it seems wrong to add it to the list).

And that scares the shit out of me. Because I didn't want to stop. I drank way past the point of feeling full, until I could feel his blood sloshing around my stomach, stretching it out like I've never done before. I would have kept going to, if not for the way he'd said my name. And the way he'd looked when I opened my eyes, grey and fading.

He'd looked like me.

"Baz," he's trying for insistent, but he's too wiped to even muster that. "How do you _feel_?"

Terrible. Wonderful. Everything in–between.

I settle on, "not hungry."

"Great," he claps his hands together; creating the feeblest sound I've ever heard. "Well then, just give me a few minutes and I'll be back in tiptop shape, all right?"

"I'm not sure that's the way it works."

He shrugs and I'm glad to see that he can still do that. "You know just about as much about all of this as I do."

"Please don't remind me," I finally sit beside him. And no matter how full I am, how great I feel, I'm acutely aware of his heart, of the pounding of his blood despite how weak it all is.

Another reason I never should have opened this door. I don't think rats and deer are going to cut it after what just happened. It'd be like going back to Big Macs after nothing but steaks.

"Look," Simon tugs my hand into his lap and gives it a faint squeeze, "we don't have to do that again. We'll drive out of the city and see if we can find you some squirrels."

Squirrels. How…appetizing.

"Good," I nod, " _good_. No more absurdly courageous deeds and near death experiences, yeah?"

"Today," he answers drowsily, leaning heavily into me. "No more today."

He's asleep in moments (it's why I can spend so much time watching him. He's dead to the world in seconds. I don't understand how sleep finds him so easy but avoids me like the plague, what with us living us in the same room) and I know we'll have to stay in.

I drop a quick kiss onto his forehead, lifting him up and pulling down the comforter so that I can tuck him in. "Not ever again Simon, I swear."

Simon snuggles up to my pillow, his wings wrapping around him like an extra blanket. All I can hope is that his dreams are absent of fangs and death. (My fangs, his death. My fangs, my death. Someone else's fangs, his death, my death, the options are endless. And absolutely maddening.)

I walk out of the room, my phone in hand and the call already ringing.

"Hello?"

"How do you feel about a day in?"

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

"You incredible arse," I barge into the room, my eyes scanning for Simon and my blood cooling considerably when I see him sleeping, safe and somewhat unharmed. Baz's stare flits from his hands to where I stand, seething. "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," his head falls back into his hands. "I was hungry and he was pushing me. I didn't think."

I ponder scolding him some more, until he feels more than properly reprimanded, but by the looks of it, he's already gotten there all on his own. "How is he?"

"How do you think?"

I sit, glaring at him impatiently until he scoots over. "Foolishly impulsive. That's the only explanation as to why he actually thought his little plan rational."

"And what does it say about me that I knew this and still went along with it?"

I can only stand a miniscule amount of self–pity at any given time. It's a special case for Baz though. He's reached his personal allotment for a lifetime, so instead of verbally eviscerating him, I now have the job of bucking him up.

"Get over it Basilton," I say, leaving no room for argument in my voice. "It's been ages since anyone assumed you would willingly hurt Simon. If I thought you would ever do anything to him, _ever_ , you wouldn't be breathing, let alone sitting here beside me."

"That's reassuring," he says to the floor, "really Bunce."

"I'm not going to spend all my time explaining myself to you, and besides, you should know what I mean by now." He finally straightens, looking absolutely wrecked. I haven't seen him this tortured since that last year at Watford, and it makes me soften. "Don't beat yourself up. Either today or two years from now, Simon would have wanted this."

"If you could clarify why, that would be bloody fantastic."

"Chalk it up to morbid curiosity," I gnaw on my lip, "or unfair levels of altruism. Doesn't matter. Simon loves you, and that means unnecessary risks and an inhuman capability to ignore reason."

Baz purses his lips, and his shoulders rise, as if they're lighter. "Where's Micah?"

"Waiting in the hallway," I jerk my thumb over to the door. "He didn't want to be witness to the carnage I'd promised on the way over."

He arches an eyebrow, more and more of the Baz I know returning. "You do realize I'm a vampire, yes?"

I lean in, bringing my lips as close as I can to his ear. " _Flammable_."

"Well played, Bunce." He jumps up, and I like to think he looks the slightest bit frightened.

"Always a pleasure, Baz." I go over and open the door, waving Micah in. "So, we have an entire day wasted, thank you Mr. Pitch, but we can still have fun."

"Fun?" We all whip around at the sound of Simon's voice. He rubs at his eyes, his skin sallow and pale, and his every step unsure. I tamp down the urge to kill Baz, especially when he seems so suicidal all ready and rush forward to grab Simon's arm. "Merlin Penny, I'm not eighty. I can walk by myself."

"Like shit you can," I mumble, shooting Baz my nastiest glare. "The last thing I need is you to go and die while I'm on holiday. Imagine explaining it to my parents. _What was that Mum? Will Simon be coming for dinner? Oh, he won't be able to join us on account of him being dead_."

"You're so dramatic," he grumbles underneath his breath.

" _Why didn't I try to stop him from being the largest imbecile to ever live? Well, I tried to, but he wouldn't accept my help. What? Disowning me? But then I'll have no one_!"

Simon wrestles his arm from me, collapsing into the couch and staring petulantly up at me. "I'm already in the damned sofa Penny. And your mother would never call me an imbecile."

"Not if you could hear her, she wouldn't."

"And if I couldn't?"

I twist to Micah. "Anyway, fun. I've got all eight of the Harry Potter films, and a day's worth of snacks. Or if Simon's eating, about an hour's worth."

Baz sits beside Simon, slowly draping an arm over his shoulder and then thinking better of it. Simon notices it and doesn't even try to hide his glower.

"I hate Harry Potter," he growls, "it makes magic look ridiculous."

"At least Harry actually got things done," I poke fun at him. "And he even managed to do it without causing irreparable changes to his body."

I hand him a bag of chocolate truffles to lessen the blow. He tears into it, and Baz has to help him because he can't seem to rip the plastic. "Whatever. I'd rather have wings than some dumb scar. And the spells are ridiculous."

"You're just saying that because when you tried to get that light spell to work, you blew up Niall's ferret." Baz reminds him, a reluctant smile playing across his lips.

"It was an accident!" Simon cries, "and I did offer to buy him a new one. Niall was just too much of a git to accept it."

Micah laughs, coming back into the room with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and drinks trailing behind him. " _ **Settle Down**_." The line of food slowly lands on the coffee table, and I reach out and snag the only Sprite before Baz can get his hands on it. He sends me a scowl, to which I reply with a long, refreshing sip. "You actually blew up a ferret?" Micah asks.

"Oh, animals absolutely abhor Simon," I answer, making sure the first movie is queued in and ready to go. "I think they realize that Simon and pet mortality come as a package deal."

"Came!" He corrects me, grabbing for a pillow and bouncing it on my head.

I swat him away easily, thinking back over the years. "There were the three parquets, five weasels, one bat, four snakes, two dogs, and thirteen grasshoppers."

Simon covers his face with his hands. "I'm not some sort of animal exterminator. I didn't mean to hurt them."

I pat his hand comfortingly. "Of course you didn't."

He wants to argue (there's nothing Simon loves more than arguing) but he doesn't have the energy. His eyes are drifting shut by the opening scene of the movie, and he's asleep before Harry discovers that he's a wizard.

His head lolls onto Baz's shoulder, and I have to push his wing out of my face when Baz wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. I suppose he doesn't have to worry about Simon force–feeding him blood if he's snoring peacefully.

"I would totally have gone to Hogwarts," Micah mutters to me, reaching out and grabbing a handful of popcorn. "It would've been awesome."

I smile at the thought, imagining him first in Gryffindor colors, and then the eighth year Watford uniform. "Yeah, it would have."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"Stop looking so smug." I roll out of the way before the pillow can hit me. It lands harmlessly on my side of the bed, and I let out a laugh. Baz watches from the end of the bed, his arm still up from the throw, and raises an eyebrow. "You had no idea what could have happened."

"High risk, high reward," I sing, getting up and walking over to him. "Isn't that what your father always says?"

"My father's a tosser."

I hum, dropping a hand on either side of his waist and moving in for a quick kiss. I can't help but feeling the tiniest bit right, and it's impossible not to let it show.

It's just that, everyone kept making such a big deal of Baz biting me. All I needed was a little sleep and some food and I knew I would be okay.

They woke me up every fifteen minutes.

"You need to eat, love," Baz shook me awake, gently at first and then a little harder.

"Not hungry," I mumbled back, trying to fall back asleep. His grip on my arm tightened, and I growled, too tired to tell him to let go.

"Simon, when are you not hungry?"

"Well, there was that one time a couple years back, and now."

"Just eat a sandwich and I'll leave you alone."

He did not. Neither did Penelope.

"This is really unnecessary," I hissed as Penelope took one of my elbows and Micah the other.

"A quick trip around the room to get the blood pumping and then you can do whatever you like," Penelope hoists me up, making sure her grasp is firm and they start dragging me around. The first time they did this, I fainted, coming to in Baz's arms with no idea how I'd gotten there. The second time had been loads better because I at least remained conscious. By the fifth time around, I barely needed their help.

"I'm not an invalid," I snapped, shooing them away as I stood. "See?" I grinned triumphantly down at Baz, fighting against the rush of nausea as I took my first step. "I'm perfectly fine."

He raised an eyebrow, setting aside his slice of pizza and walking to my side. "I'm sure," he said sarcastically, "but you won't mind if I come along, will you?"

"Course not," I hoped he wouldn't notice the sweat bedding my forehead.

I suppose they were being sweet, trying to take care of me. But I can't stand _hovering_. Almost as much as Baz can't stand being wrong.

"For the absolute last time Baz, I feel great." I slip from the bed onto the floor, catching myself before my wings bash into the floor. To prove my point, I hop up and pounce over to him, jumping onto his back before he can stop me. "Better than great even."

"And the cravings for blood?"

My tongue sweeps over my teeth, checking my canines and finding that they're exactly as they've always been. "Trick question," I place a kiss on his neck, just where he'd bitten mine, "they've always been nonexistent."

He shakes me off, but I cling to him tight. "Well now that I know you won't faint or turn, how about you go and shower? You smell like a rubbish bin."

"Interesting, what with me using your cologne just fifteen minutes ago," I snip teasingly, hiking myself up higher and wrapping my legs around his waist. "Besides, we have much more important topics to discuss."

"Like what?"

I roll my eyes, craning forward so that I can give him a "you're so insanely stupid" look. "A feeding schedule for one."

He sighs, reaching up and pulling my arms from him. "You really must have a death wish."

"Obviously not," I wait until he turns to face me to grab his shoulders, "what with you not actually killing me."

"This time," he says slowly, like I'm the idiot in this relationship. "I didn't kill you this time."

"The lack of faith you have in yourself is astounding." He smacks my hands away. "Fine, we talk about it some other time," I concede. He looks relieved to finally be done with this particular conversation, but I know I'll bring it up again.

This is the best I've ever seen Baz look in all ten years of knowing him. It's been a day since he fed and it hasn't started to fad away, like usual. His skin is still flushed pink and his eyes, while no longer as manic, still have that energy swirling around in them, making them extra brilliant. Human blood suits him, no matter how much he might hate to admit it. This way he'll get what he needs without having to hurt anyone to do it.

All I've got to do is trick him into agreeing. Seems easy enough.


	6. Chapter 6

_**BAZ**_

As the vacation nears to a close, I start to feel restless, uncomfortable. I haven't lied to Simon in over two years, not big one's anyway. (Yes, Simon, I _loved_ Star Wars. Sure, let's definitely see it again. I don't mind waiting in line for six hours just so that you can ride the same roller coaster for the seventh time. No, that sweater isn't a waste of money, even if you have three just like it. Of course your wings didn't hit me while we we're sleeping. The bruise on my cheek? I have no idea where that came from. You get the point.)

So, every time Bunce shot me knowing looks, or Simon babbled on and on about what we would do when we returned home, it took a second for me to remember to breathe.

"When are you going to tell him?" Bunce comes up and hisses in my ear.

"The second you have an actual conversation with that one," I jerk my thumb over to where Micah is explaining American football to Simon. "I'm not the only one being purposefully secretive."

She harrumphs, in that way that only she can (filled with self–righteous indignation). " _I_ don't need to do anything. You, on the other hand, need to tell Simon the real reason we're all here, or I'll march go over and do it myself like I should have weeks ago."

I swing myself over the back of the couch, nearly toppling over by managing to stay on my feet. "You can't Bunce, you swore you wouldn't!"

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" She says thoughtfully. "Contingent on you telling him the truth the day we all landed in New York. That was eons ago."

"Things just keep coming up," I protest, trying not to scowl. Between Simon's sudden bout of insecurities, me biting him and his subsequent deterioration, (and me working hard to not kill him while he's sleeping) it just hasn't been the right time. "I'll tell him, I have to."

"You do," she agrees, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "And you have to do it today. He seems to think you two have a return flight home for tomorrow morning, so you have until then to explain yourself."

"I don't like deadlines," I snarl, my temper getting the better of me.

"Probably why I did better than you in school for all those years," she snips back, turning on her heels and walking away before I can get another word in. (I'm not sure what I would have said anyway. We both know what would have happened if she'd returned back to school with me.)

Simon rushes up to me. "Baz, me and Micah are gonna go play football." He rocks back and forth onto the balls of his feet, brimming with energy. "Like, not with our feet. But with our hands. Come play with us."

I don't bother asking where they plan to throw a football in one of the busiest cities in the world. Instead, with Penelope's warning looping through my mind, I smile. It's closer to a grimace than anything else.

"Actually, would you mind doing that in a bit?" He cocks his head to the side and he's so adorably delicious that I wish I could stop speaking and let this entire lie fade away. "There's somewhere I've been meaning to show you."

"Sure," he says slowly, slightly suspicious. I suppose I'm not engendering the most confidence in me. "What is it?"

"I'll tell you when we get there."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

He's nervous. And when he's nervous, _I'm_ nervous. Baz doesn't get nervous, not unless I'm doing something stupid. And I rarely ever do anything stupid anymore. Much. He's calm; I'm not. He's unflappable; I'm a flag in a fucking hurricane. So, when he's nervous, I don't know how to handle it.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

I'm doing a shit job of introducing this all to him. By the time we're on the subway, his tail flicks back and forth, hitting my leg hard enough to make me flinch. I eventually wrap it around my wrist, making sure that he doesn't whack some kid in the face.

"Is it bad?" He asks for the umpteenth time, taking my hand and gripping it tight. I've grown accustomed to Simon's hand in mine, what it means at different times. (There's one for when he's happy and he wants some of it to spill into me. There's one for when he's scared and needs to know I'm there. There's one for when he's annoyed and can't find the words, so he holds me until he can.) And then there's this one. Tight and riddled with anxiety.

"Simon," I sigh, "relax."

"Just tell me if it's bad."

"It's neither good nor bad," I answer, "it's just is." Obviously I've said something wrong,

"Are you leaving me here?" He asks accusingly, poking a finger into my chest. "Because you'd get in so much trouble, I don't even want to think about it."

The train pulls into our stop and I pull him. "Something like that," I say vaguely.

He's ready to burst by the time we walk over to our final destination. "I'm breaking up with you," he pouts. "And you'll have to think of your terrible behavior when I'm gone."

"You're not going anywhere," I roll my eyes, yanking him to a stop. "Because if you did, you would never know why I've brought you here."

He eyes the building in front of us, his confusion palpable. "A school."

"A university actually."

He still doesn't understand. "It's nice, as far as universities goes."

"Simon."

"Baz."

It's harder than I thought it would be. "It's The Julliard School. It's a conservatory that specializes in the arts."

"Wicked," he nods, trying to muster up interest but falling flat.

"Simon, one of the professors back in England sent one of the violin instructors a video of me playing. He contacted me, we've been talking quite a bit, and he offered me a chance to finish out the last two years of schooling here in New York."

Understanding dawns on his face. Simon's never been stupid. (Willfully naïve? Sure. Reckless with his decisions? Definitely. But never stupid.) I can tell the second he sees this trip for exactly what is was.

"When do they want you to start?" He asks, sounding strange. Detached.

"September."

He gnashes on his bottom lip. His tail has a mind of its own, flipping and spinning and dangerously close to taking my head off. "Two month?"

"I didn't want to ask you to move to a different continent without ever having been there," I rush to explain. "I figured it would be easier for you if you saw what it was like here."

"You mean you lied?" Simon isn't stupid, and he's very rarely cold. But it's as if the temperature dropped thirty degrees. I can't hold back a shiver. "For months."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I'm clinging to his hand now, afraid that if I let go, he'll walk away. "It was a shit thing to do, I should have realized it as soon as I started this whole thing. Bunce said as much."

His face flashes with alarm. "Penelope knew about this too?" I've said too much, way too much. He's trying to hide it, but the betrayal's written right there on his face. Not only have a lied to him, but I enlisted his best friend. I made it so that the two people he's supposed to trust the most, that he did trust the most, ruined everything.

I've well and truly fucked up.

"Simon…"

"When were you going to tell me?" He asks, tugging his hand away and folding his arms across his chest. "When you were packing your bags to go? A year later, when I still had no idea why you left? Ten years from now when I'm still trying to put the pieces back together?"

I shake my head, so hard that my neck aches. "I never would have done that to you," I say, hoping he'll hear the truth in my words. "I haven't given them an answer yet, I was waiting for you. I just didn't know how to ask."

"Because I'm such a hard guy to talk to?" He asks sarcastically,

I shut my eyes, willing myself not to breakdown. Because if I cry, he'll cry and we'll be a sopping mess in the middle of New York. " _Aleister almighty_ , yes, sometimes you are. I thought about all the different ways I could ask you to give up your entire life back home, and I thought of all the different ways you could say no."

He glares down at the ground, and I can just make out the glimmer of fresh tears. "I didn't want you to tell me to go, just to have you stay six thousand miles away from me. I didn't want you to tell me that you would come with me, and regret it. I didn't want–"

"To consider what I would want?" He asks quietly. It stops me like a punch in the stomach. "Because what I want is to go back to the hotel."

"Simon, please."

"Now Baz," his head whips up, eyes dangerously blue like they always are when he's going to sob. "I want to go back now, with or without you."

The dread fills me slowly, like ice in my veins. This doesn't feel like a beginning, or the middle of our story.

It feels like an end.

"Okay," I breathe, "okay, let's go."

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

I can tell it didn't go well the second they walk back into the hotel room. Simon's barely breathing, his eyes bright like they always get when he's about to cry. I'm surprised he's held it together as long as he has.

"Simon–" Baz tries, hand outstretched but finding nothing as Simon marches into the bathroom and slams the door.

I don't say anything to him, even though I'm dying to. It's my fault he even brought it up, that they're fighting now, so the least I can do is mind my own business.

Micah, on the other hand, hasn't had enough time with the two of them to know when they need to cool off. "What's going on there?"

"Nothing," I answer automatically. He frowns, looking as if he wants to argue, before shrugging and turning back to the TV.

I can't help but feel like a hypocrite. Here I am, doling out unsolicited advice to my best friends and watching as it blows up in their face, only to ignore the problems within my own relationship.

If you ask Micah and I to discuss the best nihilist writers of the twentieth century, we could spend hours and hours talking. But ask me to have an honest talk with him, and I've suddenly lost all my words.

"I'm going to go check on him." I say fifteen minutes later, hoping that they've both had a chance to calm down.

"Which one?"

I pat his knee. "Both."

I head over to the bathroom to talk to Simon first. Baz'll stew for a few more minutes, getting darker and darker until he's as pitch black as they day we met him. He'll take more time.

Simon's clean after he's cried, lighter somehow, just on the edge of letting go of what's weighing on him. The right phrase, a quick hug and one last sniffle, and he'll be ready to actually talk to Baz.

"Si," I call through the door, rapping my knuckles against the wood. "Can I come in?" I wait patiently, hearing the door unlock and swinging it open slowly. Simon sits on the edge of the tub, wringing the hem of his shirt in his hands. He's a pathetic sight, red and puffy and damp and miserable.

"You knew," he whimpers, and collapsing into me when I sit beside him. I give him a few more minutes, stroking his hair, wiping away his tears, willing him happy. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"He just did," I say weakly. He pulls back, just enough that I can see him roll his eyes. "He was scared."

"Why do people keep saying that?" He exclaims. "If anything, you're loads scarier than I am."

"Truer words have never been spoken," I laugh, "but that's besides the point. He wants this, more than he's willing to say, but he's always going to want you more."

"That's the thing," he says, blowing his nose loudly. "I don't want him to say no."

That's unanticipated. "So then what's this all about?"

"He shouldn't have lied," he says fiercely, "and you shouldn't have helped him."

"I only found out because I heard him on the phone one day and Baz is as terrible a liar as you are."

"Not that bad if I've been a bloody idiot for the past three months," he sniffs. "I don't want him to give this up for me."

"Tell him that then," I could smack him, he's such a fool. They both are. "Whatever it is you're thinking. He wants to know. It's a big decision and you're his only factor."

He shrugs, falling silent. Exhaling slowly, an idea starts taking form, completely unbidden. "How about we do it together? You go have it out with Baz, and I'll go have that actual conversation with Micah you've been pushing for."

His eyes creep up suspiciously, interest overtaking sadness. "Honestly?"

"As honest as one girl can be," I say genuinely. "Go on then, your boyfriend is probably spiraling outside and there's very little I can say to him that'll help."

"Fine, but if I end up crying again, you owe me a milkshake." He jumps up, a shadow of his normal self. "Two, with extra whipped cream."

"Deal," I reach hand out and wait for him to shake it. " _Morgana_ , give me strength."

"We'll both need it."

He leaves first, nodding at Micah on his way out. "I would not want to be a fly on that wall." Micah jokes, stretching out on the couch.

"No, not that conversation, or this one either."

His eyebrows furrow as he glances up at me. "Penn?"

"We need to talk."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

I find him out in the hallway, sitting on the floor with a far–off look in his eyes. He's got a lighter in one hand and a ball of fire in the other. When one goes out, the other relights, over and over until I step forward.

I used to find him like this a lot. After a bad day at school, after a small fight, after the past became the present in his mind. It used to terrify me. The first time, I'd taken the lighter and held his hand, crying with my head turned so he wouldn't see.

Soon, he only did it when he knew I wouldn't be around.

"Why?" I asked one day, after I'd seen another empty lighter in the kitchen garbage. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said it so smoothly that I almost believed him. "It just, it helps me put things in perspective."

I blinked, waiting for him to explain. When he didn't, I bit back a growl. "Perspective?"

His eyes darted up from the dinner table. "I'm going to live forever, Simon. At least, I should. The whole vampire thing, it means that I have an eternity waiting for me. It makes the little things seem like fucking mountains. A failing grade, a shitty classmate, a bad memory. I have hundreds of years to agonize over them all."

I listened, memorized. There was something about the way Baz spoke, like each word was carefully chosen, tasted before released into the world.

"The fire," he paused, going over the cabinet and taking out two plates. "The fire reminds me that forever isn't as long as I think. It could end, in a second my eternity could end. So, a failing grade, a shitty classmate, a bad memory, it's nothing. My family, the violin, Bunce, annoyingly enough, _you_ …"

"Perspective," I finished for him. "But it would be well mad of you to have that realization and then accidentally light yourself on fire."

He ducks his head to hide his smile, but I still catch it. "Yeah, well, that's the whole point of it. The risk."

I jumped forward, one of my wings batting into his chin. "I think it's dumb," I teased. Even though I didn't. It was pretty amazing. He'd swatted me away that day.

He doesn't even look at me today.

"Perspective," I murmur, lowering myself to the ground and leaving some space between us.

"Wasn't looking for any," he says, "I was just cold."

"Right."

I can't find the words to say, and he doesn't help, so we sit in silence.

Finally, when my stomach grumbles and I can't feel my legs, I go to stand.

"I'll call them," his hand darts out and takes my wrist. "Tell them that I belong in England, at home, with you. That it's the only place I ever want to be. With you."

"I thought you weren't looking for perspective."

"Found some anyway."

He finally turns, grasping my stare with his own. "I don't want you to do that." There was hope written all over his face, but it fades away slowly, replaced by a fear that knots up in my stomach.

"Simon, I don't want to be six thousand miles away from you for a second, let alone semesters at a time." He's frantic like I've never seen him before. "Breaks won't be enough, nothing will be _enough_."

"You never let me finish," I grumble underneath my breath, holding a hand up to stop him. "I don't want you to give up your dream. And I don't want some long distance relationship. It may work for Penny and Micah, but it's not what we need."

"So what?" He asks, terrified.

"Well, we can't stay in this hotel forever. And I don't plan on being homeless any time soon, so I say we start looking for flats."

"What?" He whispers, seconds from shattering. "You're saying…?"

"I only ever want to be with you too. I don't know how this'll work, and I'm still pissed as hell that you lied to me, but I don't care if we're in New York or Yorktown, as long as we're together."

"Oh thank God," I'm in his arms a second later, his lips on mine. His lighter hits the ground and cracks, filling the air with the smell of gas, and his palm burns to the touch, but it feels like the first kiss.

"Don't be throwing those words around just yet," I warn him once we've come up for air, "I have no money, so you're paying for everything."

"I assumed."

"And you can't give me such a hard time about the biting thing. You need blood, I've got some. It makes sense."

"Debatable, but all right."

"And you're going to have to do all the packing."

"Fine."

"And the heavy lifting."

"That can be arranged."

"And I want an endless supply of scones."

"Simon."

"What?"

"Stop talking."

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

He makes room for me on the couch, but I still perch on the edge of the armchair, considering him carefully.

"Is there something in the water today or something?" He laughs nervously, running his hand down the back of his head. "What's going on with them?" When I don't answer, his smile drops. "What's going on with you?"

"I…" I trail off, uncertain of what to say next. Taking a slow breath, I square my shoulders and face him. "I've loved spending time with you, you know that."

"Of course."

"And that's the reason why I didn't want to spend the little time we had together fighting. But that was wrong of me." His forehead crinkles with bemusement.

"What are you talking about Penny?"

"You didn't call. For four months, you didn't call." I feel fidgety, the way I always have whenever I've had to do something that made me this anxious. I cross one leg over the other and focus on remaining composed. "I knew you were angry that I decided to stay in England, but we were making it work until you stopped _trying_."

Micah leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I wanted to call you, but I needed to do something, and you would have seen right through me."

"What?" I ask, clasping my hands together, hoping it will contain some of my apprehension. "Figure out the best way to break up with me?"

"Jesus Penn," he cries, "no!" He pushes off the couch and comes over to me, prying my legs apart and wedging himself between them. "Penny, I've been in love with you since fifth year. If I haven't been abundantly clear about that, nothing's changed, at least not for me."

"So then where were you?" I inject as much confidence as I can into my voice so that he won't hear the relief in it. "Because, the last time I checked, men don't tend to ignore the women they love."

He sighs, one part frustration and two parts resignation. "I have this problem," he starts slowly, "and I knew that if I had your attention for even a second, I would end up spilling everything."

I can barely hear him over the joy flooding through my head, but my curiosity gets the better of me. "And you can't tell me about this problem because you're insecure in regards to my genius?"

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Your genius is probably your most attractive quality." His lips move to the tip of my nose.

"So then what was it?" I shift backwards before he can sidetrack me, nearly falling onto the cushion. "What could be so important that you ignored me for months?"

He rolls his eyes. "You're like a dog with a bone." He untangles himself from me, going over to his backpack and carrying it over. He holds it out to me, his eyes staying on mine as he rifles through it with the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips. "I was making this."

His backpack falls from my grip as I take the small square from him, considering it with a frown. "It's a box," I twist it in my hands, searching for an opening. It's made of wood, a shiny cheery mahogany that's smooth underneath my fingertips. "It is a box, yes?"

His smirk morphs into a full–blown smile. It makes the corner of his eyes crinkle. "It's moments like this that I marvel at your observational skills." I set it in the center of his palm when he wiggles his fingers expectantly. "It's for you, which is why I didn't want to ask you for help."

This is the type of problem I love, the kind that leads to hours stooped over a book or thinking through an idea. "What were you trying to do?"

"I wanted to make it into sort of a puzzle," he says, his voice taking on that dreamy quality when he's in his head, seeing the finished product instead of the pieces in front of him. "I wanted to bind it with layers of spells, all types. Song lyrics, poems, nursery rhymes, you name it. And once you figure out the last spell, it pops open. But no matter how long I spent on it, I couldn't get them to stick."

"A scavenger hunt all in one place," I grin at the thought, "clever."

He nods, eyes twinkling with excitement. "I thought you might think so. Each layer would be a riddle about our relationship."

"You're this close to being truly forgiven," I hold up my hand and leave the tiniest bit of space between my fingers, "if you want to get all the way there, you need to tell me what's in there when it opens."

He runs his thumb down the length of his jaw, exhaling heavily. Instead of answering, he runs a finger along the edge of the box until it pops open, pursing his lips as he stares inside. "This." He inches it forward until I can peek inside.

"This is…unexpected." I breathe, the breath hitching in my chest as I reach in and stroke a finger along the ring sitting in the center. "Here I was thinking that you were going to sack me…"

"Only to have me propose instead," I tear my eyes away from the box, swallowing harshly at the sight of him on his knee. Picking up the ring, he takes my hand. "I royally screwed this up, and it's not the first time I've wished that I had a brain half as big as yours so I could actually impress you, but I need you to know that I love you. I've loved you since we were fifteen, and somehow I've only managed to love you more over the past seven years."

I don't let him finish his speech; don't see the point in waiting when I can show him that I don't need some grand display or elaborate declaration. I slip off the couch and kneel in front of him. "Ask me."

"What?"

"I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it's –"

"Penelope Bunce, marry me."

I've been asked an infinite amount of questions in my life. I've spent hours pouring over books, searching for the perfect way to fix a problem. And I've come up with an infinite amount of answers.

But this question, this answer, it doesn't require thought. In fact, it's the easiest choice I've ever had to make.

"It's about bloody time."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"Simon?"

"What?"

Penelope huffs, stamping a heeled foot. "Simon?"

"What is _it_ , Penelope?" I ask, my eyes still glued to the TV.

"For Gods sake Simon, will you shut off the damned telly for five seconds and turn around!" There's something in her voice that sounds different. Not wrong exactly, just different. It's enough to get me to actually listen.

I whip around, my hand going to where my sword used to hang out of habit before I remember it's gone. "What's wrong?"

Her grin's so bright that I can't look at it directly. She lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers, so giddy that she's nearly bouncing out of her skin.

"Oh shit," the words drop from my mouth before my brain registers what I'm seeing. "Is that what I think it is?"

I jump onto my feet and bound over to her, taking her hand and bringing it close to my face so I can get a better look at the diamond on her fourth finger. "I did what you said. I talked to him and called him out for ignoring me, and he proposed."

The _I told you so_ is just on the tip of my tongue, but I don't say it. This is her moment, one that she so rightly deserves. "I'm getting married Simon!"

She throws her arms around me and I'm ready for her, holding her waist tight and spinning her around in a circle. "You're getting married!" I cry, my cheeks straining from the strength of my smile.

"What's with all the noise?" Baz walks into the room, wincing theatrically as I set Penny down.

"We're getting married," I beam at him. He raises an eyebrow, obviously surprised. "No, I mean, we're getting married," I rush to explain, gesturing between Penny and me, "they're getting married, Penny and Micah and–" Oh, screw it. " _We're_ all getting married!" I throw my arms out, waiting for him to respond.

He scratches the tip of his nose, looking confused for a few seconds, before racing over and plucking Penelope from the floor.

"Baz," she shrieks, "put me down!"

"I can't help if I'm excited," he drops her, his hands going to rest against her shoulders and his smile so wide I can see his fangs.

He's really got the best smile.

"Someone's finally taking you off our hands," he smirks, Penny's fist against his chest doing nothing to dampen his good mood. "Congrats Bunce, I never thought I'd see the day."

"Even when you're congratulatory, you're still an arsehole Baz," she says back fondly, reaching up and pinching his cheek. He doesn't slap her away, that's how happy he is. "Now, on to other business. Simon?"

"I can't hear you over the ring," I glance back down at it. Must have cost a fortune. I wonder if Micah's rich. That would be _awesome_. They could have a bouncy castle in the backyard of their actual castle.

" _Simon_ ," Penny repeats, snapping her finger in front of my face.

"Sorry, what?"

She cocks her head to the side, and her bangs fall into her face. "If you can pay attention for half a second, you would hear me ask you to be my maid of honor." Baz snorts, covering it up unsuccessfully with a cough. I want to laugh too (last time I check a dress would look terrible on me) but instead my eyes water.

"You really…but your sisters…I just…" my hand goes to rub at my chest, where my heart feels as if it's swelling.

"Simon, don't you dare." Penelope grits out, her eyes glassy and her fists clenched. "Because if you start crying, so will I, and I have too much planning to do."

"Give him ten minutes," Baz suggests helpfully, "by then he should have cried himself out. "Or, most likely, an hour."

"Fuck off, Baz." He's right though. If things are going the way I think they're going, I'll need at least forty–five minutes to collect myself. "What about your sisters?"

"Those idiots would screw everything up," she shakes her head, her tears already forgotten. "At least you'll have Baz there to stop you from making too big a mess."

"Excuse me?" Baz asks, popping up a finger to get our attention.

We ignore him.

"As ridiculous as the next few words to come out of my mouth will sound, I'd love to be your maid of honor."

Penny claps her hands together. "Excellent, you and Basil can color coordinate on your own I assume."

Baz clears his throat noisily, moving to stand between the two of us and frowning. "What was that, Bunce?"

"I've been perfectly clear Baz, I'm not sure where the confusion is." She looks at him like he's an idiot. He looks at her like she's absolutely mad. I wonder how long this stare down will last because my stomach grumbles. "You'll be standing right up there beside me."

"And what minuscule part of your brain did you use to make that decision?"

Penny steps forward, leveling him with an agitated glare. "Basilton, somehow you've become one of my best friends. I didn't want it to happen, but it did, and now I want you there on my wedding day, being you're normal excruciatingly annoying self. Now, I'm the bride and I won't have you ruining anything with your stubbornness."

"That's as close to a declaration of love that you'll be getting from her," I say over my shoulder, going to the kitchen and grabbing the last of the cherry scones I forced Baz to buy after our talk. They lasted all of thirty minutes.

By the time I return, they're glaring at one another. "How about an usher?"

"No, Basil," Penelope huffs, "you're going to be one of my bridesmaids and you're going to enjoy it."

"Not likely," he sneers. "If you plan on being this difficult, maybe I just won't be in attendance."

"Don't be dramatic," she rolls her eyes. "Why don't we skip the argument, the silent treatment, Simon's subsequent tears, and an unnecessarily emotional reconciliation and just agree that you'll stand up there with me?"

Baz's nose twitches with the effort of keeping his glower in place. "Micah doesn't need another groomsmen?"

"Even if he did, you would not be getting a recommendation from me."

"Penelope, you must see how ridiculous you're being?" He exclaims, whirling around to face me. I shrug, chewing happily on the last bite of my scone. I've already agreed to be her maid of honor, and it'll be extra satisfying to have Baz beside me, wearing that black suit he saves for special occasions. "Snow?"

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. My wings go to cocoon him, making him cough as a feather finds its way into his mouth. "It'll be so _fun_ Baz. Think about it, fancy pictures, fancy food, fancy music."

"Sounds like an evening at the Grimm–Pitches," he mutters, "I think I'll pass."

"Please Baz," I press my nose into his cheek. I consider using some of that leftover guilt from earlier, but I'll save that for another day.

"Yeah," Penny comes over and squeezes into the little space left between Baz and me. "Please Baz?" We stare at him with the same expression, wide eyes and batting eyelashes. "With O positive sprinkled on top."

"I detest you both." Penny and I share triumphant smiles. Honestly, did he _really_ think he'd be able to say no?

"This is going to be fantastic," Penny declares. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a million and one things to do."

"Since Snow's now your bitch, _excuse_ me, I mean maid of honor, why doesn't he help?" Baz sneers. I raise an eyebrow at him. Sore loser.

"Sure," I say gamely, resisting the urge to poke my tongue out at him, "what can I do to help Penny?"

"Hmm?" She's got a distracted look on her face, her mind moving past this conversation all the way to the day of the wedding and storing away everything she has to do. "Oh, well, I've got to call my parents, and Micah's parents, and it might _actually_ be nice to spend some time with the man I plan to spend the rest of my life with."

"Lucky man," Baz says facetiously. It's Penny's turn to glare at him, and he lifts an eyebrow at her, daring her to argue.

"Penny?" I urge her on. We _really_ don't have the time for one of their spats.

"Right, I'm going to head over to Micah's flat, I need you to book four tickets to California."

I hear a short, surprised squeak, and at first I think it comes from me, but when I twist to glance at Baz, he's just barely containing his disbelief. "Come on! I _told_ you boys that we were to see Agatha during this trip." Penny exclaims heatedly.

"I assumed it was just a poorly executed joke."

"I don't _make_ jokes, Basilton."

"Thanks not true Penny," I smile, "I think you're quite funny."

"Thank you Simon," she says, still staring pointedly at Baz. "Any who, we're going to go see Agatha and I won't hear another word about it. This is my wedding and I can't only have two blokes and my _siblings_ in my wedding party."

"You mean to tell me that you have no other female friends?" Baz ask exasperatedly.

"None that come to mind, no." She goes over and picks up her bag. "It's not like I can invite any Normal girls to my wedding. I've already contacted the magick caterer I'd like to use, and they don't use waiters. So either find me some girls I can actually work with, or stop complaining." She's shut the door behind her before Baz can conjure up a decent retort.

"I guess we're going to California." I grin, patting his chest. "Better pack light."

I go to the bedroom, wondering what I should take, and I _just_ hear what he mutters underneath his breath. "What have I gotten myself into?"


	7. Chapter 7

_**BAZ**_

I've been dreaming of the ocean. I wake up with the taste of sea salt on my tongue and the crash of waves on the sand in my ears. (It's never nightmare, those are far and few between these days. It's Simon and I on the beach, Simon splashing me and laughing at how cold it is, Simon carrying a screeching Bunce into the water, Simon kissing me, his lips freezing and blue and tinged with salt.)

It's most likely because of the trip to California. No matter how nice the dreams are (Simon and I have never been anywhere but New York and England together) I'm not looking forward to it. Still, after two weeks of trying to persuade them otherwise, we all file out of LAX.

"Smile Baz, this will be an adventure."

I sneer at him instead, dropping the shades over my eyes and considering slathering on another layer of sunscreen. It's so bright over here, the sun somehow keeps managing to reach my skin, setting each of my cells on edge. "You were complaining about this very trip for weeks."

"Yeah, but that was when I didn't want to come to America at all. Now that this is going to be home, I want to see all of it."

Micah comes up behind us. He claps his hand on Simon's shoulder. "You've still got another forty–eight states to go, Si."

Simon shrugs, unperturbed. "We've got plenty of time."

"We're never leaving New York again." I growl. "Everyone here is far too happy."

"Maybe some of it will rub off on you," Simon snips back, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I swat him away.

"Okay," Bunce walks up, typing furiously on her cell phone. "I've got Agatha's address, and I've just called for a car."

"When will Wellbelove be meeting us?" I ask. Not because I particular care to see her, but because the sooner we see her and she reiterates her need to be away from us and magic, the sooner we can go back to home.

I know Bunce and Simon wish that I would let go of some of my anger when it comes to blondest of their little trio, but I just can't. (I've had two years to cultivate an impressive grudge. I don't see it changing anytime soon.)

She left, when Simon needed us all the most, she bolted and never looked back. No matter how it ended between the two of them, Simon still loved her. (Not like _that_. If I'd thought for a second she was competition, I would have been there to see her plane off. Maybe would've sent it crashing down to, who knows.) And he would never say, but I could tell that it hurt. He'd lost the Mage, his magic, Watford, and one of his best friends all in one fell swoop. That would have sent a lesser man to the grave. (It would have sent _me_ to the grave.)

"She's not," Bunce waves us forward as a car pulls to a stop in front of us.

Micah and Simon follow her in, too busy searching for things to do in California to notice Bunce's reply. "What do you mean she's not?" Penelope's eyes drop down to her folded hands in her lap, and that's all the answer I need. "Bunce," I say slowly, drawing out her name, "Wellbelove does know that we're coming, right?"

Simon rolls his eyes. "Don't be dumb, Baz. Course she does, Penny called her last week and set the whole thing up." Bunce remains silent, staring resolutely out the window. "Penny, you called Agatha, right?"

She tugs on her bangs, so hard I'm surprised she hasn't scalped herself yet. "Penelope," I say warningly, and I can see her stiffen. (I only ever call her by her first name when she's wandered into dangerous territory.)

"Fine," she falls back into the chair, making herself smaller as I glower at her. "If I told Agatha we were coming, she would just have found some reason not to see us. This way, she'll be forced to make time."

"You're _ambushing_ her?" Simon asks, blue eyes wide and filling with horror at an alarming rate. "Penny, that's a terrible idea."

"And if Simon's saying that, it must be true." Micah adds. He shrugs when Simon turns to pout at him. "What? I'm a quick study."

"Look," Bunce waves her hands in front of them, grabbing at their attention, "I've been texting her, so I know where she'll be all day. And she'll thank us, once the initial shock wears off."

"Yeah, I'm having no part in any of this," I decide, leaning forward. "Excuse me sir, can please pull over?"

Bunce swats at the back of my head. "Basilton, _relax_. This is going to work."

"I'm sorry, I've always just presumed that when someone flees from their friends as fast as their prim little legs can carry them, that those particular relationships are doomed."

"Then maybe you should take a break from all those presumptions of yours and try actually being _helpful_ for a change." Penelope huffs, her glare withering. I return it with equal parts agitation and fury. "Everything will be fine."

"Unless it isn't." The both of us shoot Simon questioning squints. He rarely ever sides with me, not if I'm going up against Penelope. I'm more willing to drop the argument than she is, especially when she knows she's got my traitorous boyfriend as back up. "Penny, this is a really, _really_ bad idea."

"Well, it's too late to stop it," Micah points out the window, drawing our eyes over to where a uni building stands, tall and imposing. "We're here."

* * *

 _ **AGATHA**_

Nobody knows me around campus. I walk from my house to the library, from the library to work, from work to get a cup of coffee, and no one bats an eye at me. No part of my story is mythic anymore, which means that no one cares. It's nothing special to be pretty and blonde and slender and perfect out here, because _everyone_ is.

I thought maybe I would hate that. Losing the one thing that made me _me._ But it's maybe the best thing to ever to happen in my life.

I'm running late for class, Intro to Psychology which I only took to fulfill a requirement but is quickly becoming one of my favorite classes, when I feel my phone buzz.

I step onto the grass and let my bag drop, my knees following it down to the ground so that I can rummage around without being in anyone's way.

"Hello?" I answer breathlessly, just catching the call before the ringing stopped.

"Agatha?"

I blink, shaking my head to try and clear away some of the surprise. "Penny?"

It's not that I didn't want to stay with my friends after what happened with Ebb and the Mage that last year at Watford. I just _couldn't_. For the longest time I couldn't even be in England, with the guilt and terror following me around, and I _still_ have trouble returning home and dealing with the memories.

Penny never really understood why I had to leave, Baz definitely didn't, and I don't think either of them truly forgave me. They lived for Simon, breathed for him. It took being thousands of miles from him for me to realize that Simon Snow wasn't the sun. He wasn't the universe, or oxygen, or God. I didn't need him to survive, and as much as I loved him, I couldn't keep putting his life before mine.

So, I said goodbye to that part of my life, throwing myself into what I knew was good for me. Being normal. My magic had never been particular strong in the first place, and it didn't make me happy or whole like it did for most magicians. And it got easier day by day to not use it, to live like the rest of my friends.

I only have one magickal friend, Lucas Sampton, and he's as useless as I am. He uses his wand as drumsticks, tucks it behind his ear and scratches his ankles with it. I've never seen him utter a single spell, and sometimes I suspect that he doesn't know how.

"Don't be stupid Aggy," he said one day when I asked him about it, "course I do."

"I'd really rather you didn't call me that." I replied, rolling onto my stomach and propping my chin up with my palm. "And I think it's a perfectly reasonable question. You don't do magic."

"Neither do you."

"Yes, but I have a reason for that," I kept it vague, hoping he wouldn't ask for a clarification. He didn't.

"Whatever," he plucked Lucy up from the ground, scratching behind her ear and smiling as she yapped affectionately at him. "This is good enough for me, magic or no magic."

I tried to ignore the way my heart fluttered.

"…so, yes, what do you think?" Penny's saying something, and I've missed it entirely.

"I'm sorry," I reach up, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and running my fingers through it. It's gotten quite long, I haven't had the heart to cut it, but that just means it knots like crazy. I know a spell that should help, but I'm not ready to sacrifice the feeling of self–reliance. "What was that, Penny?"

"I said," she drawls out, sounding exasperated, "that we're here in California and really need to see you." The phone nearly slips from my hands as I stiffen. "Are you busy?"

I dart up, giving my mud–caked knees and bag filled with books little thought as I try to remain calm. "You're here? In California? Los Angeles?"

"Yes Agatha, why in the world would I be calling if we weren't in Los Angeles?" I don't have to see her to know that she's rolling her eyes. "In fact, we're on your school's campus."

My heart is racing faster than I thought it possible, so fast that it hammers against my ribcage, trying to break free. "This is a terrible joke, Penny."

"It's a good thing I'm not joking," she responds drolly. "Fine, be obtuse, I'll find you myself. **_Hide and Go Seek_**."

Before I can get a word out, maybe _no_ , or _this can't possibly be happening,_ I feel her magic like a string tugging at my stomach. I try to resist it, lunging for my bag and turning in the opposite direction, but soon I'm walking away from the path that leads to my classroom and over back to the dormitories.

"Finally," I hear her before I see her, and it's like I'm transported back two years. "Took you long enough."

Fuck my _entire_ life.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

She dreads seeing us as much as I dread seeing her. She hasn't changed, or maybe she's become more beautiful, I'm not sure. Hair's still an impossibly long waterfall of white blonde silk. Eyes still an annoyingly bright hazel. Smooth skin flushed and tan, pink lips pursed into an unhappy pout.

She eyes Penelope warily (probably wondering if she can run without having Bunce spell her back) before her stare moves to me. I jerk my chin in her direction, the most she'll be receiving in a form of acknowledgement. Her jaw clenches, just slightly, and I know that she still feels the same for me as I do for her.

(Mutual disdain at its finest.)

And then finally her gaze lands on Simon. And everything about her softens. She seems to relax, a reluctant smile playing across her lips until she's standing there, dazzling us all. (Or the three of them at least. I'm wondering if she'll ever speak so we can end this lunacy as soon as possible.)

And then Simon is rushing at her, throwing his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in so tight, I'm shocked he doesn't crush her. And there, in those few seconds in which she returns his hug, eyes closed and smile growing wider by the second, is the reason why Wellbelove and I will never be friends. Because I will never stop being jealous of what she had.

Simon is mine now, and forever, but for seven years, he was hers. And I'll never be able to get that time back. And she never even wanted it. (It's infuriating.)

"What are you _doing_ here?" She asks into Simon's shoulder, her words directed at Bunce.

"I thought it was about time we all got together," she says casually, as if she hasn't just dragged three people across the country in hope of upending the life of an old friend (I use that term loosely here). "Do you have a dorm or something that we can go to?"

"Um, I actually live off campus?" My eyes narrow at the question in her voice. "And I have a class to get to anyone."

"Nonsense Wellbelove," I say fluidly, hoping I've somewhat managed benign interest, "your class will be there tomorrow, but who knows how long we'll be staying." She shoots me a sharp look and I could almost clap with glee because I know I've stumbled across something she doesn't want us to know.

"You can't, I don't really have guest over to my house."

Bunce, oblivious to the tension between her blonde–headed friend and I, looks impatiently down at her watch. "Whatever, are there any coffee shops near by?"

"I really think we should head over to Agatha's, get a look at the life she's living over here." I smile pleasantly over at Simon, knowing he must be curious himself.

"Yeah Agatha, please?" He still has that hold on her, the same unwitting hold he has on all of us. She wants to say yes, for the sole reason that it's him who's asking. I can tell by the way she purses her lips, hugs her arms to her waist, mentally fortifies herself for the disappointment. (I've gone through this routine time and time again, only to relent as soon as my eyes meet his.) (This is the definition of whipped, yes?)

"I'm sorry, but no. Everybody else is probably sleeping and–" She cringes, glaring first at me and then at Simon.

"Everybody else?" I ask. "As in roommates?"

Her cheeks flush with annoyance. "Sort of, yes, I suppose so. Why does it matter?"

I examine my fingernails, holding back the urge to laugh. "No reason. But there's no reason to be embarrassed, Agatha. Lots of girls join sororities in university."

Simon and Penelope both stare open–mouthed at her, unable to hide their surprise. I personally don't understand their reaction (this is the natural progression for a girl like Agatha. Next stop? Weather woman. Final destination? Real Housewives of Mages) but find it amusing nonetheless.

"You joined a _sorority_?" Penelope asks, her disapproval biting.

Agatha's shoulders square, and maybe she has changed a little bit, because t's the first time I've ever seen her look so…ferocious. Like she _will_ walk away from us if this continues and not look back. "Yes Penny, I joined a sorority. Is there a problem?" I raise an eyebrow at the challenge in her voice.

Maybe it's the water in California, or the fact that she's actually grown up, but she doesn't seem like the type to run and tell an adult when something goes wrong, or sit pretty and quiet in the corner anymore. She seems like the type to speak her mind, regardless of who's she up against.

Penelope shrugs. "It's fine, if you like those sorts of things." Luckily for Agatha, she missed Bunce's hour–long diatribe of the harms of Greek life after being accosted with flyers around her school. "Now can we please just go somewhere to talk? Micah and I have news."

"Okay," she concedes guardedly, leading the way to what I assume will be a café, but not before shooting me one more scorching look. Simon scrunches his nose at me, jogging forward slightly to catch up with her. She visibly unfurls, the tension leaking away from her as she laughs and tugs on his tail. (I don't kill people. It's the one sin that I've been able to firmly keep off my list. But, in that moment, I think… No, I won't kill her, even if I'd really like to.)

"Must you always be _such_ a git?" Bunce grabs my arm and holds it tight, yanking me forward. Maybe she's afraid that she won't just have one friend flee on her, but two. Between Agatha and myself, I'd put my money on the vampire (faster runner).

"Must I? No. Am I? Well that's up for debate."

For some reason unbeknownst to me, Bunce shoves me into the free seat beside Agatha.

"Sit," she demands, earning an indignant squeak from me and a sneer from her. "And don't either of you move." She takes Micah by the wrist. "Simon, come help us with the drinks."

"I really think I should stay," he says, chewing on his bottom lip as he stares hard first at Agatha and then at me.

"Simon," Penelope's voice leaves no room for argument, "please. It's too much for Micah and I to carry alone."

"Fine, but I want a treat."

"I can only guess what."

Simon grins, his voice fading slightly as they walk over to the counter. "Don't bother, I want a scone."

"This is America, Simon."

"So what, they don't have good things?" He snorts.

When I look over at Agatha, she's smiling (but I am too. It's impossible not to smile around Simon. The unhappiest people I know grin like fools when he's near). Both of our smiles fall away almost simultaneously.

"All right, Wellbelove?" I ask, just to break the silence that seems to stretch out infinitely.

She nods curtly, crossing one leg over the other, her boot knocking against the leg of the table as her knee jiggles. "You?"

"Peachy," I can't quite keep the sneer from my voice.

"Great."

"Outstanding."

"Wonderful," she snaps, fingers tapping against the table.

"Bloody fantastic," I snarl, shoving away from the table.

Her lips twitch angrily and her nostrils flare. "Tell Penelope I had to go, okay?"

 _Damn_ it. If I let her walk out of here, I won't hear the end of it from the Chosen One and his sidekick. (Something about Wellbelove is making me revert to my less than savory ways.) "Oh, just sit down." She flicks her hair over her shoulder, still annoyed but at least no closer to the door. "Please," I tack on as an afterthought. "I won't say another word if you don't want me to."

Slowly, much slower than the situation requires, she lowers herself back down to her seat. "I don't," she says, "want you to say anything."

"It was implied, Wellbelove."

"That's saying something, Basilton."

I point my knees away from her. Maybe if we don't face each other I won't want to spell her mouth shut.

"Aggy!" Agatha bolts up from the table, nearly spilling the contents of her bag onto the floor. (Lovely, I was seconds away from dying of boredom and this is definitely an interesting development.) Agatha wrings her hands as a guy as blonde and tan as her walks up to us, slinging an arm over her shoulder and grinning.

"Lucas," her voice comes out high and reedy, nervous. "Don't you have econ now?"

"I ditched," he's got an easy smile, it spreads over his face like it was always meant to be there, "I need tons of caffeine before doing nothing with my day." She giggles. (I've never seen someone look so uncomfortable in my life.) "Who's this?"

Agatha says "no one," just as I stand and offer him a hand.

"Baz Pitch," I say, giving him my most winning smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Lucas eyes me curiously, tilting his head to the side. "You're one of Aggy's home friends?"

"You could say that." I nod towards Agatha's empty chair. "Please, sit."

"No," Agatha practically explodes, shaking her head and pressing a hand to Lucas's chest. "He can't stay."

Lucas waves her off. "Nonsense, I've got time. Besides, I've known Aggy since freshman year and she won't tell me anything about home. She's a mystery wrapped in an enigma inside a pretty smile."

"Well, I just adore talking about England and Agatha, ask anything."

"Baz, that _really_ isn't necessary."

"So, did you go to Watford too?" He asks eagerly, ignoring the panicked glances Agatha keeps shooting him.

Genuine surprise floods through me, and when I peek at Agatha, she's buried her hands in her face. "You're magickal? Do you practice?"

"Almost as little as Aggy here, maybe even less," he scratches his eyebrow, shrugging unabashedly. "I wasn't very good at it, so I left it to my sisters. I actually heard about Watford from them. They _begged_ my mother to send them there. Some mega–posh boarding school in a completely different continent was there dream, and even I got pretty excited by the idea of going."

"Why didn't you?" I crow happily. "We would have loved to have you."

"Yeah, well, with all the shit that was happening with the Insidious Humdrum and everything my parents thought it was way too dangerous."

"Totally understandable," I nod sympathetically.

"Did you ever see it? The Insidious Humdrum?" He has that same hungry look on his face that most get when they hear about Snow and the greatest threat to magic. My gaze roves to Simon unbidden.

"Something like that," I mutter distractedly, wondering for the umpteenth how something so evil could have existed because of Simon, the very man standing with his cheeks puffed out and eyes crossed, making Penelope laugh.

"Sick," Lucas laughs. "I wish I could stay and hear more, but I _was_ actually going to class. If you're staying much longer, you should come over to Aggy's place, share war stories." He leans over and presses a kiss to Agatha's cheek; "tell Lucy Luce I'll be over to walk her soon." He misses the way color rushes into her cheeks, a brilliant flush as he stands and winks at me. "Nice to meet you, Baz."

"Same to you," I watch him go, laughing to myself. (Agatha's got herself a type. Lucas is what Simon would have been if his parents had stayed with him. Laid back, confident, smart and carefree. He's the good that Simon managed to cling to despite all the darkness that surrounded him.)

"That was…interesting," I say, reclining back into the chair and wearing a smirk. Agatha stares dazedly at where Lucas sat, a hand resting on her cheek and a dreamy expression on her face. "Wellbelove," I snap, "over here."

That seems to snap her from her trance. "Baz," she cries, her mouth widening into a perfectly round circle as she searches for something to say. "You can't tell them."

"About your little boyfriend? I don't think I can keep that particular tidbit to myself."

She lunges forward, taking my hands in a death grip. "Baz, please. Lucas, he's the best thing that's happened to me hear. He's untouched by all the terrible things that happened, clean, and mixing him with _them,_ it would just ruin everything. And he's not my boyfriend." (But she wants him to be.) "I know you hate me, I get it and I know you don't owe me anything, but please, I'm happy." Her voice cracks, and it makes my stomach clench.

"Yeah, whatever," I clear my throat, hoping to do something with the lump lodged there, "It's not any of my business anyway." I wrestles my hands from her, wiping them dry on my jeans.

She falls back into her chair, all that terrified energy draining from her. "Thank you," she sighs heavily, "really."

* * *

 _ **AGATHA**_

"You know," Baz starts, eyes darting around the café before landing somewhere near me, "they miss you."

I expected mean, biting, scathing even. Somewhere along the way, Baz wedged a wall between us, or I wedged a wall between us, I don't know. Either way, it was permanent. He messed with my head at a time where I was questioning everything, and I never thought he was good enough for Simon, even two years later.

So, this is bewildering. "And even though I don't like you for leaving Simon, I _do_ understand why you left. But things have changed, for all of us. Simon's not the Chosen One, I'm not his enemy or Bunce's or yours. We don't have to be some dark past for you, or at least they don't."

My eyes water and I blink them away. I've always sworn that I would never cry in front of Baz, not after he rejected me. I'd be damned if I broke that promise to myself. "I miss them too," I admit, "but my life is here. And I'm not giving it up and I'm not going back home."

"You don't have to. We're all moving out here, Simon and I to New York for school, Penny for Micah. And I'm not saying I want you to be some permanent fixture in our lives, I _don't_ –"

It's an awful enough comment that it pulls a snort from me. "Thanks Baz, just what a girl wants to hear."

"Come off it Wellbelove, and let me finish. I may not want you around, but you saw how happy it made Simon to see you. And you may not be in love with him anymore, but you do still love him, and he loves you. I can tell."

I want to argue with him, to tell him that he couldn't be more wrong. But I felt it, that familiar tug towards them, no matter how annoyed I was when they appeared in my world. I couldn't erase eight of the most important years from my memory, or how big a role Simon and Penelope played in it.

"And, for what it's worth, you were the only person to find anything redeemable in me, before even Simon or Bunce, and despite our obvious dislike for one another, that means something to me." He manages a tight–lipped smile. "So it wouldn't be completely awful for you to spend more time with them. _I_ wouldn't be completely awful."

"I suppose that's all I can really ask for."

"I'm trying to be _nice_ , Wellbelove. Don't be a pain in my arse."

"I never thought I'd see the day," I run my hand through my hair, wincing as my finger gets snagged in a knot. "And, I guess you aren't as terrible as I thought."

"I never thought I'd see the day," he parrots me, "an actual compliment from Agatha Wellbelove."

"Don't get used to it," I smile. It's not friendship, not by a long shot, but tepid water is a step in the right direction from the freezing murk of the last hour.

"What are you two talking about?" Simon bounds up to us, mouth sprinkled with crumbs and three cups of coffee in hand. Baz reaches up and snatches one of the to–go cups before it can topple over from its precarious perch on his elbow.

"Wellbelove's dog," Baz lies smoothly, taking a sip of the coffee and letting out an appreciative moan. "White mocha breve?"

"They didn't have pumpkin, so I get the next best thing." They share a special look, and suddenly I feel as if I'm intruding on something private. I'm about to turn away, when Simon holds out my coffee.

"I got you a gingerbread latte," he nods at it when I hesitate.

"Thanks," I reach for it gingerly and take a cautious sip. Sweet and bitter, much like this moment.

"You have a dog now?" Simon asks, collapsing into his chair and ignoring the coffee the sloshes onto the front of his shorts. His ankle wraps around Baz's and Baz sputters on his coffee, coughing loudly as Simon smirks.

Good. I like Baz flustered. It makes him almost tolerable.

"I've had her since I moved here actually." I pull out my phone and scroll through my pictures, my cheeks burning with each swipe. Lucas and I on the beach. Lucas holding Lucy. Lucas smiling as I jump onto his back. My eyes are the same in all of them, filled with an unbearable amount of love. It makes me ache inside.

"Here she is," I hand it Penelope, who's face immediately twists into a strange combination of laughter and surprise.

"Baz, check this out." She tosses my phone at Baz, who plucks it from the air with his eyes closed and the coffee at his lips. His eyes widen comically, and he sucks in his bottom lip in an effort to hide his chuckle. He's not very good at it.

"What?" I question them. "What is it?"

"This is Penelope's dog," Baz says, lifting his fist to his mouth and biting down.

"No it's not," I say slowly, wondering how they could have made it this far being this daft. "I found Lucy…that day at Watford and I brought her with me."

Penelope shakes her head. "I used her to get a message to Baz, but she's not my dog or anything. And she looks loads better than she did last I saw her."

Of course. One of the most incredible parts of my magic–free life, one of the signs that I've made something of myself outside of all of this, only came to be because of Penelope and Baz. Because of Simon. Because of Goddamned magic.

"Oh, don't be upset Agatha," Penelope shoves aside her drink and gives me a sad smile. "If you are, I won't be able to tell you my good news, and then this entire trip would have been a waste."

I don't bother arguing. If I let her say what she needs to say, maybe I can finally be rid of them.

Maybe Lucas will go to the pound with me and pick out a new dog.

"What is it, Penelope?"

I'm too focused on the echoes of their laughter in my head to notice the way she reaches for Micah's hand. He hasn't said much, and I've almost forgotten he was there.

But the one thing I do notice, the one thing that's impossible to miss, is the diamond glistening glistening on her finger.

"You're getting married?" I gasp, pushing my annoyance back, to be dealt with at a later date. "Oh my God!"

"Way to steal my news Agatha," Penelope giggles, rolling her eyes before standing and letting me pull her into a hug.

"This almost makes up for the impromptu visit."

"Well, maybe this next question will change the almost to a definitely." She takes my hands in hers and squeeze. "I know it's been a while since we've talked, but you were one of my best friends for so long, and that hasn't changed, at least for me. So Agatha, will you be one of my bridesmaids?"

I suck in a breath, my mind going blank.

Except for my one thought. The same one from earlier actually.

 _Fuck_ my entire life.


	8. Chapter 8

**_PENELOPE_**

I'm prepared for a no. Let me clarify, I didn't drag my fiancée and two best friends across the country just to have an old friend reject me. I was _hopeful_ for a yes, and I still am. But I'm also a rational human being, more so than the average person.

I expected Agatha to kick us to the curb the second she saw us. She didn't.

I expected her to brush us away the second we got to the café. She didn't.

She's been blowing away my expectations, but her becoming my bridesmaid is different from her spending a few days with us. It's asking for a long term commitment, and that's one of the very reasons Agatha fled. That would be asking her to pretend as if the last two years hadn't happened and that we were as close as we once were.

It's asking for more than I think she's willing to give.

So, I'm prepared for a no. I'm also prepared for a yes. What I'm unprepared for is to watch as Agatha sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and chews worriedly, her eyes darting around the room, searching for exits, and finally uttering a tentative _Can I think about it_?

"Can you think about it?" I repeat incredulously, looking first to Baz and then Simon to see if they're as flabbergasted as I am. "How long do you think we're staying? Baz starts class in a little over three weeks and they still need to find a flat."

"Because you really gave me a ton of time when you showed up here without any warning?" She spits back, folding her arms over her chest as she stands. "I need to _think_ about it Penny, is that okay?"

I sit back down, swallowing my protests before they have a chance to erupt. "Sure, yeah, that's fine. Our return flight isn't for a couple of days, so do you think you can give me an answer by then?"

"Maybe?" She sits as well, crossing one leg over the other. I glower, and some of her bravado seeps out of her. She hunches over slightly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Yeah, probably."

"Brilliant," I finish the rest of my coffee. "Let's see the rest of your campus."

Simon moans, mouth full of some pastry I didn't see him buy. "But I'm not done eating."

"You're never done eating," I roll my eyes. He shoves the rest of it into his mouth and waggles his crumb–coated tongue at me. "Let's go."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

We need to leave California, and soon. The damn ocean has invaded my mind. It's infuriating. I wake up unable to tear myself from the sea foam and ocean breeze. It doesn't help that I can't sleep for more than a few hours with Simon being extra idiotic as of late.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

"If you toss around one more time Simon, I'm kicking you off the bed." He growls like he has the last three mornings past.

I've woken up every day brimming with energy, nearly bouncing off the walls. The first day he was appeasing, the second a little more menacing as I shoved him awake at four o'clock in the morning, and yesterday, he actually made good on the threat. Maybe today, I'll find some _other_ way to burn the energy away.

"But I can't do _this_ if you kick me off the bed," I swing a leg over his waist and smile down at him as he cocks his head to the side. Baz has the most incredible case of bed-head I've ever seen, each long silken strand standing in a different direction.

"What are you doing?" I run the tip of my nose along his jaw, down his throat. He swallows roughly, and I can't hold back a grin. "Simon…" Whatever he's going to say disappears as my lips catch his, first softly and then harder and harder until there's no room between us and his chest is heaving. I don't give him enough time to think once I pull back, pulling off his shirt with a smile.

"Good morning," I whisper as my kisses move further down, past his chin, over his collarbone and finally to his tattoo. A shudder passes through him just as my tongue traces the outline of the heart.

He struggles to catch his breath, but I don't let him, my fingers digging into his side. He yelps, a sound between a squeak and a laugh, before a trembling moan escapes through his lips. There's a spot on his hip that I pay particular attention to, marveling at the way his back arches every time I suck lightly.

"Simon," Baz breath comes out shuddering and low as I kiss past his belly button, nearing the top of his boxers. He clings to my waist, just hard enough to leave a bruise. I like him like this, trying to keep from falling apart under my hands. If I had known this is what it would take to shake up the normally _unflappable_ Basilton Pitch, I would have kissed him my first day at Watford.

Who am I kidding? I would have kissed him my first day just because.

" _Baz_ ," his skin is cool underneath my lips, enough to extinguish some of the fire burning within me. I inhale, summoning up all the courage in me before reaching down and tugging on the hem.

He's out from underneath me in seconds, his back against the headboard and a bewildered gleam in his eyes. "What's gotten into you?"

I gape at him, my mouth hanging open and my head empty. "It's more like what _hasn't_ , right?" I joke weakly, willing my heart to slow.

The corner of his mouth perks up into an amused half–smile, and he stoops over to pick up his shirt. "Funny." He hangs his legs from the bed, standing gracefully and going over to the bathroom door. "You plan on making jokes all morning or will you actually be ready on time this morning?"

I don't understand how he can be so _composed_ after what just happened. My heart races, sweat coats my skin, and that energy I tried to rid myself of has doubled. I flop back onto the bed, grab at a pillow and squash it to my face, smothering a groan.

"Less screaming, Snow. We're meeting everyone in twenty minutes." He calls through the door. I glare at the door, poking my tongue out at it. "I saw that."

 _Crowley_! I can't do _anything_ with him here.

I try not to sulk when we leave the hotel and meet with Agatha and Penelope on the beach. Micah has some friends over in Orange County, but promised to be back by dinner, so it really is as if no time has passed. We all had to _behave_ in front of company, but now it's just the four of us.

And Agatha and Baz, even though they've reached some sort of agreement, still hate one another.

And Penelope won't say it, but she's still just as annoyed with Agatha as Agatha is with her.

And I'm too busy focusing on Baz to focus on anything else.

"Simon…Simon…. _Simon_!"

I blink, forcibly tearing my eyes from Baz as he pulls his shirt off and begins slathering sunscreen onto his arms. Agatha stands beside him, draping her towel on the sand and lowering herself onto it. With their sunglasses on and their matching bored expressions, they make quite the picture. Beautiful and just out of reach.

"Why can't you ever need something from me when I'm paying attention?"

"Why aren't you ever paying attention when I need something?" Penny counters, adjusting the straps of her bathing suit. "What are you even looking at?"

"Do you ever look at someone and just _want_ them?" I ask distractedly. It's a losing battle trying to keep my gaze from Baz.

And Aleister, he's trying to kill me. He's propped up on his elbows, his lips twisted into a slight grimace and directed at the ocean. He's a statue, all sharp angles and smooth marble. It's all I can do to keep from flying over and finishing what I started this morning.

"What?"

I turn back to Penelope, hassling my hair. "Have you ever just _wanted_ someone?" I repeat. "Wanted them so much you can't think, or eat, or…just _or_?"

"What are you talking about, Simon?" She pushes aside her binder (how she managed to organize all of this in such a short period of time, I'll never know) and considers me suspiciously. "Can you really not manage to keep it in your pants long enough to get back to the hotel?"

"I've never even managed to get my pants _off,_ " I grumble petulantly, realizing my mistake too late.

She twists, a puzzled frown on her lips as she studies Baz. And then understanding washes over her face. "Oh." She murmurs. " _Oh..._ "

"Penny," I say warningly, standing slowly as she bolts up from her chair, her glee palpable. "Penny, calm down."

"You two haven't–" her hand flies up to cover her mouth, but I can still make out her laughs. "It's been two and half years and you still haven't–"

"I don't want–it's none of your–" I feel myself growing flustered, my face burning. "No!" I explode, balling my fists and plopping down onto the sand. "We haven't."

Penny crumples beside me in a fit of giggles. "How is that even possible?" She gasps. "All those times I walked into the flat and you two were on the coach?"

I frown. "We're not animals, Penny. My bedroom was five feet away."

"And yet, I've seen more of Baz's naked bum than I've ever wanted to." She shakes her head, that very statement drawing out another round of hysterical twitters. "And all those times you two kept me awake with all the _noise_ in the middle of the night?"

"We've done…things, but never too far," I fall back and cover my eyes with my arm. "I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

"You're the one who decided to bring up your sex life, or lack thereof. Now we have to talk about it."

"Not if I can help it," I clamber up to my feet, ready to race away, or fly away. I don't know. I hadn't come up with a plan yet.

Penny is just as quick, shouting a spell just as I'm about to make a break for it. " ** _Take It Slow!"_** I go to take a step, but it feels as if there are anvils weighing down my feet, keeping me in place. She walks calmly up behind me and pats my shoulder, grinning her _I know more than you_ smile.

I _hate_ that smile.

"Now, where were we?"

I growl at her, jerking forward and getting absolutely nowhere. "This isn't fair, you know?"

"Sure, sure. Whatever. Can we get on with it? You, Baz, the no sex."

Well, it's not like I can get away from her anyway. "He tried, near the beginning, I just wasn't ready."

"And now?"

"He won't give me chance, I guess. He acts as if I'll collapse if he touches me too long or too hard."

"Brushing away the acute disgust at the thought of you two doing _anything_ together, I might actually have a way to help."

"Why am I not surprised?"

She takes a page from her book and shrugs. "Because I'm perpetually cleaning up your messes."

"If I agree, will you let me move again?"

She puckers her lips thoughtfully. "Possibly. But first, let's get to work."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

I get a fucking sunburn. As if California isn't bad enough, what with it being a cesspool of the clinically airheaded and crack–addled, I pretended to sleep to avoid conversation with Wellbelove, only to actually fall asleep (serves me right, I suppose). When Simon finally pokes me awake, I'm one big burn.

"Must we really go back to the beach after we eat?" I whine, wincing as I sling an arm over his shoulder. "It's miserable."

"But I haven't had the chance to swim yet," he protests.

I duck my head to catch his eyes, but he blushes and looks away. "Well it's not my fault you and Bunce spent the last two hours gossiping over avocados."

"We weren't gossiping," he says heatedly, "and I'll never understand your problem with avocados."

"I'd rather my food not have the same coloring as a man dying of a cholera."

"And yet you eat kiwis," he points out, sounding triumphant.

I pinch his side and he jumps. "My dietary habits aside, I hate the beach."

"Well I love it," he cranes up and presses a kiss to the bottom of my jaw. A tremor moves up my spine, "almost as much as love you. It's a toss up, really."

"Glad to know I'm in competition with an entire body of water, Snow."

"Only the pacific one." He shoots me a grin before wriggling out from under my arm and taking my hand. "Come on, I'm starving."

Agatha walks up behind us, twisting her hair up into a bun with a flick of her wrist. (I wonder if I could do that with my hair. It has gotten pretty long. Simon's been begging me to braid it since our first month anniversary.) "I know the perfect place for a sandwich and chips."

"Sounds perfect," Simon pulls me insistently behind him, batting me with his wings every few steps.

It doesn't take long for us to find the restaurant Wellbelove referred to (if you can even call it that). It's more like a shack, with scantily clothed men and women streaming in and out, each more blonde and obnoxious as the last.

"Dude," one of them cries exuberantly, making me cringe with the volume, "the surf is, like, awesome."

"Yeah, man," his friend, equally as blonde, equally as afflicted with stupidity, "seriously awesome."

I roll my eyes, slipping my hand from Simon's so that I can glare at the two imbeciles. "So awesome in fact that you might do me the great favor of drowning."

They both stare up at me with blank expressions. Great. I've gotten the blondes incapable of intelligent speech.

" _Baz_ ," Simon calls impatiently, arms folded across his chest and a reprimanding lilt to his tone. "Let's go."

I make sure to leave them with one more passing sneer before jogging up to Simon. "What?" I ask defensively.

"You know I'm blonde, right? And Agatha, too. You can't be mean to someone cause of their hair."

"They were idiots, you're not. Most of the time anyway."

"Doesn't mean you have to be such a prat about it."

Penelope skips up behind us, kicking up sand as she runs. "Boys, stop bickering," she advises airily, swiping her hair from her forehead. "There's something we have to do, inside."

Simon follows her obediently, leaving me standing alone in front of the restaurant. (My options? Deal with the moronic musings of the "surfer dude" or see whatever it is Bunce has planned for us. Neither seem like a viable choice.)

"Grow a pair, Pitch. What's the worst that can happen?"

It's the fact that I can think of several answers to that question that makes me nervous.

"Nice of you to join us, Baz." Penelope says primly, a binder and two clipboards already set on the table. "Simon and Agatha have already ordered. I'm assuming that you'll be taking your meal later?" She quirks up an eyebrow, the implication in her words clear. I sneer at her, my already foul mood doubling.

(Feeding from Simon is a double-edged sword. On one hand, I feel better than I ever have. Almost _normal_. It also means I can go longer without feeding, almost a week at a time. On the other, I spend the next day raked with worry. Did I turn him? Did I take too much? Will he wake up if he faints? What have I _done_?)

"I think I'm quite all right, Bunce, thanks for the concern."

Simon and Agatha return, a fry dangling from between Simon's lips and a laugh hanging on Wellbelove's tongue, the first of the day.

"So, what exactly do you do with your wings everyday?" She asks, setting down her food and smacking away my hand as I go for a pickle.

"I've got Penny to thank for that," he smiles fondly over at Bunce. "She came up with a spell so that my wings only appear to people who saw them before I lost my magic."

Penelope flushes humbly. "I didn't come up with the spell. It's actually a commonly used one, I only changed the inflection on certain words." She shuts her eyes, dropping her voice and bringing her ring close to her mouth so only we can hear her. " ** _Now You See Me, Now You Don't_**." I blink, and there's Simon's wings, fluttering excitedly as he cranes his neck to get a better look at them. "I offered to do the same with his tail, but he likes having it show." She shrugs, looking over at Simon as if he's mad (it's possible that he is).

"Clever," Agatha brushes a hand along one of Simon's wings, making it quiver underneath her touch. "No one else can see them?"

"I can, Baz can, and you can. Everyone else thinks you're petting the air." Wellbelove snaps her hand back, looking around self–consciously as she blushes. Penny snorts, resting her elbows on the table and watching me carefully.

"Anyone ever tell you it's impolite to stare, Bunce?"

"All the time," she leans her cheek into her palm, eyeing me the same way she does a problem with a particularly difficult solution. "I need your help with something."

"I haven't even had my morning coffee."

"It's one o'clock Baz, I'm sure you'll survive."

My gaze wanders away from Penelope and over to Simon. He's fidgeting, dragging a French fry through a mound of ketchup so that he won't have to meet my eyes. He's been like this all day, a bemusing amount of nervous energy leaking from him whenever we're together. "Fine," I answer absently, frowning at Simon but talking to Bunce, "what is it?"

My head jerks back when she thrusts a piece of paper into my face. "Agatha thought it would be a laugh for Micah and I to fill these out."

Wellbelove's nose crinkles as she cocks her head to the side. "I did?" The table shakes and she yelps. "I mean, I did," she repeats, the question gone from her voice and her lips twisting down into a grimace.

"A survey?" I ask dubiously, reading it over quickly before taking it from Penelope. She hands one to Simon as well.

"More like a performance review," she says vaguely, grabbing one of the clipboards and grinning. "We just need you to answer each part as honestly as you can. That way I can see what works and what doesn't before I give one to Micah."

"And he would actually take one of these? _Why_?"

"I'm sorry Baz, but I'm going to have to request that I ask the questions," she clucks, pouting sympathetically. (I don't trust her in this moment. It isn't the first time I've become a science project to her. I know the signs.) "Scoot on closer to Simon, please."

I do as I'm told, figuring that I can save my protests for later. His chair scrapes along the floor as he does the same. "Did you know about this?" I murmur to him.

He shrugs, bending the corner of the paper. "Okay," Penelope claps, pulling both of our stares to her. "State your name."

"Bunce, you know our names," I say exasperatedly, already annoyed with this test of my patience.

"Baz, please," she lets out a long–suffering sigh (because _I'm_ the difficult one).

"Fine," I huff. "Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. Satisfied?"

She nods smugly, then turns to Simon. He shrugs in response. "Simon Snow."

"Excellent. Age?"

"Twenty–two."

"Twenty–one."

"How long have you two been together?"

"A few years now." Simon shrugs again. (He only ever shrugs like this when he's hiding something. If I wasn't certain before, I am now. He and Bunce are in this together.)

"Be specific," Penelope urges him.

"Two years, seven months, and thirteen days," his cheeks flare up with red, and I can't help my grin.

Penelope glances slyly at me, her smile widening. "Sexual Orientation?"

" _Merlin,_ Bunce, I'm pretty sure that's already implied if Micah plans on marrying you. I say implied versus known because I assume you two haven't been in the same place long enough to see you between waxes," I graze my finger over the groove between my nose and my upper lip, smirking.

"Morgana, are you usually this awful at following directions? Just answer the question."

"Gay," I cry exasperatedly, earning a few strange looks. I lower my voice, leaning forward. "I've been gay for as long as I can remember."

"Thank you," she says beatifically. "Simon?"

He thinks of it for a moment, and I find my own curiosity growing. I never bothered asking because it didn't truly matter. Whether Simon liked girls or boys or everything in–between, I didn't care because we would always be together.

(Still, I hold my breath and wait for him to speak. I'm more nervous than I should be.)

He shrugs, scratching that mole on the back of his neck. I have to stop myself from kissing it. "Baz," he says simply. It's embarrassing how audible my exhale is, broadcasting my relief to the world. "I only want to be with him."

"Cute," Penelope checks something off her list, trying to hide her beam behind her hair. (Wellbelove's much better at it than Bunce. Her hair's longer, a blonde curtain thick enough to cover her grin.)

"I'm not _cute_ ," Simon protests. "You said to answer honestly, and I did."

"Sure, sure," she placates him. "You're the least adorable person I know."

He nods, satisfied. His curls bounce, spreading sand along the table (how it's possible for him to be this dirty, I'll never know). "Thank you."

"No problem. Okay, final question. How are things in the bedroom?"

Simon begins choking, stooping over as he coughs and sputters. I'm torn between helping him and ripping that damned piece of paper from Penelope's hands.

"You're kidding, right?" I scan the paper skeptically. "You actually wrote this down?" There it is, in her cramped, neat handwriting.

"Penny!" Simon bangs his hands on the table, wide–eyed and still gasping for breath. " _This_ was your grand plan?"

I shove away from the table, bolting up and pinning them each to their spots with a reproving look. (Well, Simon and Bunce. Wellbelove's too busy cackling to pay me much mind.) "I knew you two were in this together. Is that what this morning was about too?"

"I–um–I don't–I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't. This," I point at them and then to my chest, "is over. I'm heading back to the hotel."

"Oh, come on Baz," Simon groans, "stay." I'm just close enough to hear when he whips around and frowns at Penelope. "Thanks for nothing Penn. As subtle as an atomic bomb."

"You would know," she shoots back, "what with you being one for the first nineteen years of your life."

He harrumphs (and even though I'm annoyed), I still laugh.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

I find Baz in the room, cursing underneath his breath. He touches a sensitive patch of red skin and winces. I think he never drank enough to actually get things like sunburns, but now that he's feeding regularly, he's about as human as he can get.

"That looks like it hurts."

He sneers at me, rubbing aloe onto his skin with a cringe. "Does it? Because it only feels as if I've had a layer of my skin scorched off."

"Not possible," I remind him, going over and ghosting a kiss along his neck. "Flammable."

"I'm aware of my status as kindling." He snarls. And then inhales slowly. "Sorry. Yes, this hurts like a bitch, and I don't understand why people have such a fascination with the sun."

"I don't either." I hope if I go along with his bad mood, he won't bring up what happened in the restaurant.

I _knew_ I shouldn't have gone along with Penny's plan. It's just that they usually work so _well._ I guess we're really only good at fighting evil. When it comes to tricking my boyfriend into admitting he wants to do me, we're not the most talented bunch.

"I would make it so there was no sun," I add sweetly, "just for you."

He raises an eyebrow. "And it would constantly be night, yes?"

"I don't know, I guess."

"And then what, Snow?" He asks, his stupidly perfect mouth quirking up into a smirk. "Would we finally get an answer to, what was it? How things are in the bedroom?"

For the second time today, I start choking, wheezing for breath as he lets out a chuckle. He rubs slow circles into the small of my back, waiting until my coughs pewter out and all that's left is my mortification.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head violently. "No. Never. Absolutely not…yes."

He laughs again, his hair falling into his forehead as he falls back onto the bed. "You're bored." He bends his arms and uses them as a pillow, watching me through his eyelashes. "That's the cause of all this, right? You and Bunce having a laugh at my expense?"

I frown. "We weren't making fun of you. I would never."

He rolls his eyes. "Except for when you would. And you have, on a regular basis. I can't get a word in edgewise when you and Bunce are near one another. You're either bickering with one another or mocking me."

"Baz," I say with as much force as I can muster, "no. Penny was trying to help me with something." I pounce up, making him flinch when I land heavily on him.

He gazes up at me, doing nothing to mask his interest. "Something? Something like what?"

I lean back onto my ankles, that same energy from before swirling low in the pit of my stomach. "I…I think I want…I think it's time to…to–"

"Out with it, Simon."

Damn it. " _Fuck_ me, Baz." His entire body freezes underneath me, and I'm sure I've made a mistake.

No matter how many times I manage to say the wrong thing, I never learn.

"What was that, Snow?"

I can't think with his hips pressed to mine, so I climb off and try to find the right way to explain myself. When I can't, I decide to wing it.

"I want you and me to…" I trail off, blushing furiously. How can we do _it_ if I can't even bring myself to ask? "How come you've never wanted to have sex?"

He sits up, moving slow enough that I'm positive he's stalling for time. "It's not that I haven't per se," he says deliberately, "I just thought that–"

"We would spend the rest of our lives stopping at over the pants action?" Oh God, I could die right now and it would be a relief. I _want_ to die right now. Why can't lightning strike when you need it to?

"Or some sort of variation of that," he mutters, his hands twisting in his lap. I reach over and grab one, squeezing tight when he tries to pull away. "The last time we had this conversation, you weren't ready." He finally turns to me, studying my face carefully. With the color in his cheeks from my blood chasing away the grey from his skin, his eyes are bright like liquid silver.

"That was _two_ years ago, Baz. If you'd ask now, my answer may be different."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

I deserve a medal for the amount of self–restraint I'm showing. He's sitting there, all eager and flushed, and I don't lunge at him. (But I really want to. I really, _really_ want to.) "Simon, you don't have to do this."

"I know I don't have to, I want to." He says earnestly, running his hand through his hair. "We're moving across the world with each other, but we haven't even done…that."

We're adults. Of legal drinking age in the states, old enough to fight in armies, to file taxes, to really have a conversation about the future. And yet we're acting like twelve-year-old boys who've stumbled across Playgirl for the first time (it's pathetic).

He does have a point though. We've only had this discussion once before, and it was near the beginning of our relationship. It was when Simon was just recovering from the grief, the loss, from everything bad thing that had ever happened at Watford.

It was our first night in the flat alone. Penny had gone home to spend some time with her parents, and for the first time Simon and I didn't have anything to do. I'd finished my assignments, and he was ignoring his.

"Why do you like to read so much?" He asked, glancing up at me from his pillow. I lowered my book so that I could meet his eyes, stifling a yawn. "You read every book Watford had to offer, and you practically live in your uni's library."

"I practically live here," I closed the book, setting it aside and smiling. "I've been thinking about selling Fiona's place."

"It would save money," he replied absently, slipping his hand through mine and tugging me down. "And time."

"My time, my money," I slid my free hand over his hip, pulling him closer. "But I wouldn't have a room to take."

"Don't be a dolt," he laughed, tickling my upper lip with his breath. "You'd bunk with Penny."

"You're an idiot," I rolled myself over him, his hand going to my waist and his laugh vibrating through my chest. "An incredibly cute idiot."

"You're just incredibly cute," his eyes darted away from mine, his voice softening. "But…"

"But?" I urged him on, tangling my fingers in his hair. It still felt like a privilege getting to touch him like this, like I was in a dream and I would wake up in eighth year weighed down by Simon's hatred. (Or worse, with those damned numpties.)

Simon squirmed uncomfortably. "Can we switch?" He asked, a whine in his voice. "You're squishing my wings. And my tail isn't much better."

"Oh," I exclaimed, "right." He dissolved into a fit of giggles as I pitched to the side, taking him with me. "Better?" I asked, settling on my back.

He licked his bottom lip, nodding. "Much."

It still amazed me how good he was at this, at all the kissing. We could do this for hours, until my lips were numb and my neck was covered in bruises.

"Hickies," he'd corrected me when I stood in front of the mirror and complained. "They're not bruises, they're more like love _bites_."

"You're terrible at puns." I'd sniped.

He was leaving them now, his mouth trailing hot, wet kisses along my neck and over my shoulder. He yanked at the buttons of my shirt, and I swatted his hand away. He alternated between stealing my shirts and ripping them when we were like this.

"Baz," he whined, yanking hard against my hold on his wrists. He nearly fell over the edge of his bed, and I couldn't stop my laugh. "Oh, you think that's funny?" He asked, a challenge in his eyes.

"Course not," I lied smoothly. I almost had him believing it, if not for the snort that came after. "Fine, it was a little funny."

"Shut up, Baz." His hands made quick work of the rest of the buttons, spreading my shirt apart. I leaned forward and caught his lips, smiling as he moaned.

"So much better than calculus," he mumbled, kissing a path to my ear.

"When was it ever a competition between me and calculus?" My breath hitched in my chest as he pulled on my earlobe with his teeth. It was good, the kind of good that made me think that I didn't just want an eternity of this. I needed it. Craved it. (I sounded like a fucking drug addict. I guess I have been since I was eleven years old.)

No man should have been as good at kissing as Simon Snow. He didn't need Watford, or university even. He should just do this professionally.

His kisses were scattering my thoughts, making them nonsensical and blurry. But the sentiment remained. No one kissed like Simon Snow.

Somehow, Simon's shirt ended up on the floor, balled up beside me, and I couldn't breathe. Not with my mouth hovering over Simon's belly button and my fingers fumbling with Simon's belt.

"Baz," he sounded like he'd been running, his fingers combing through my hair.

"Simon," his jeans were easy enough to get off, and then there were his boxers. Blue silk covered in cupcakes. Fitting. I licked the mole just above the hem, and did it again when a tremor passed through him.

" _Baz_ ," he said again, and there was something in his voice, something different. I paused, glancing up at him with my chin resting on his pelvic bone. (If I closed my eyes, I thought this was what heaven would feel like.)

" _Simon_ ," I replied, frowning when I noticed the terrified expression on his face. I leaned away from him and he scrambled back as if I'd burnt him. His eyes flooded with tears in the time it took me to collect myself and when I tried to touch him, his wings came around him. Protection. "Simon, what's wrong?"

He shrugged, wiping angrily at his cheeks. "I don't think I can do this."

For a moment, a cold fear went through me, starting from my heart and spreading dangerously fast. "Define _this_." I said urgently, surging forward and clasping his knees. He grimaced and I eased up, forcing the muscles in my fingers to unlock.

"This," he cried, "it's all too fast." I grabbed for my shirt and draped it over his chest, my eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

"You mean the physical things?"

He looked at me as if I were mad. "What else would I be talking about?"

And I really hated myself for it, but I giggled. (And I loathe doing that. Makes me feel like a goddamn six year old girl.) His head whipped up, a growl growing in the back of his throat. "You're laughing at me?" He snarled. He really was hysterical, all ferocious despite the tears still sliding down his cheeks and the puffiness of his eyes.

"How can I not?" I pulled him into me, burying my nose into his hair and inhaling. "You're beautiful when you're like this, you know that? My gorgeous crybaby."

"If I'm a baby, so are you." He snapped. "You still cry at The Notebook."

"That makes me a hideous romantic, not a baby. Besides, I cry at The Notebook because no one should be forced to kiss Ryan Gosling for inordinate periods of time." A shudder went through me at the thought. "You're an idiot, Snow."

"Whatever," he sniffled, moving to get up from the bed.

"Simon," I grabbed for his wrist, "stop. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to laugh. But I thought you meant all of this, everything with me, and it scared the shit out of me."

"And I'm the idiot? You git," he muttered, letting me hug him back into my chest. "Who else would date a snob like you?"

"I'll have you know I have many gentleman callers," I didn't. "But I ignore them so that I can spend my time finding out why my boyfriend is currently crying in bed."

He shook his head, remembering that he was too distraught to be angry. "I don't want to disappoint you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against my collarbone. "But I don't, I _can't_ do…you know, that. I haven't done it with anyone, not even Agatha."

"And you think I'm the poster child for an active sex life or something?" I asked, tilting back so that I could consider him. "I'm as clueless as you are, as improbable as that seems."

"Jerk," he mumbled, making me chuckle.

"Look," I took his chin in my hand and lifted his head until his eyes met mine. "I'm in this with you, okay? Whatever you need, however slow you want us to take this, it's all fine with me."

"Are you sure?" He asked, so pitiful as he dragged his arm underneath his nose that it made me love him all the more.

"Come on, Bunce left some of those chocolates in the fridge that we are absolutely not to touch. Let's see how many we can eat before getting sick."

He let me take his hand, the beginnings of a watery smile appearing on his lips. "All of them. The answer is all of them."

I never pushed him after that. I always figured that if he was ready he would be the one to initiate it. I suppose that's what he's doing.

The words are on my tongue before I realize I've even made the decision. "Simon Snow, take off you pants."

Simon blinks, surprised. "What?" (Of course. Can he do anything without as many daft questions as possible?)

" _Crowley_ , Simon. Shut up and take off your damn pants." He opens his mouth, probably to spout off another moronic comment, but I kiss him before it can come out. Forgetting my burn, he trails his hands down past my stomach, over to my hips. He pulls me flush against him, his hands already toying with the string of my shorts.

"You sure about this?"

"Depends," I answer, already breathless, "you going to start crying on me?"

"Fuck off, Baz." He murmurs, smashing his mouth against mine. I like to think that I know what I'm doing now, more so than when we first got together. It definitely feels like I know what I'm doing, because when I slip my fingers into his hair and tug, he lets out a shaky breath.

And when I suck hard on his Adam's apple, his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. And when I finally get the courage to brush my fingers along the hem of his shorts, he moans, eyes popping open.

We've been doing this dance for almost three years. And this is where it always ends, the music stops, we pull apart. We've got to learn new steps, and Snow hasn't always been the best student.

I, on the other hand, was the first in my class. Still am most of the time.

So, with my eyes locked on his, I grab my shorts. And I let them fall.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

Needless to say, if I somehow didn't figure it out over the last three years, I am _desperately_ in love with Basilton Pitch.

* * *

 ** _PENELOPE_**

I can tell the moment I see the two of them together. Simon's smug, and it takes a lot for Simon to manage smug. He walks around the room as if he owns it, and actually winks at Agatha and I. I repeat, Simon Snow _winks_ at us.

Baz is even worse, incapable of keeping a dopey smile from his face. Whenever his eyes meet Simon's, he blushes a radiant red, his head ducking and his smile widening. I'm afraid he might split his damn face open after a lingering look too long.

"You two had a good night, I assume," I say as vaguely as I can. Simon grins, snuggling in closer to Baz, turning his head so that his nose is pressed against Baz's cheek.

There's a row of red marks up and down Simon's neck.

"Yeah," Baz replied mildly, staring hard at the book in his lap. I don't think he's really reading it. He's been on the same page for the last hour. He spends more time staring at Simon than absorbing the words of Dostoyevsky. "Movie on TV."

"On the dirty channels," Simon snickers, earning a glare from Baz.

"Simon!"

" _Baz_." I didn't think it possible, but Baz blushes even harder, more red pooling in his already sunburnt cheeks.

I rustle through my bag, sharing a quick glance with an obviously amused Agatha, before pulling out a box.

"I'm guessing you'll be needing these?" I chuck the box over to Baz, who catches it easily and proceeds to drop the condoms as if it's a lit match and he's remembered that he quite enjoys not being a pile of ash.

"A little too late for that." God bless Simon and all his terrible winks.

"Simon, please!" Baz drops his head down into his hands, shaking it as his shoulders quake. Agatha is besides herself with laughter, on her back with her arms wrapped around herself. Even Micah's trying to contain himself, his forehead pressed to my back, sending his laughter through me like magic.

Simon, blinking innocently as he reaches for a scone, shrugs. "It's not the first time he's said that today."

"Someone kill me," Baz looks around frantically. "I'm begging."

Agatha and I look at one another. "Idiots!" We cry at the same time, falling against one another as we laugh.

And suddenly this trip to California feels just the way I hoped it would.


	9. Chapter 9

**_SIMON_**

"But it's going to be so _cold_."

Baz watches me impatiently, fiddling with the string keeping his sunglasses around his neck. He's slick from head to toe with sunscreen but he still winces every time he moves.

"Simon, you're the one who said you wanted to swim in the ocean before we left. That was three days ago and our flight takes off in four hours, so this is the only chance you'll be getting."

"We can always come back," I suggest, biting down on my lip so I won't laugh at his expression.

"That is absolutely _not_ an option," he sneers, at what I'm not sure. The people walking past us, beach umbrellas and coolers tucked under their arms? The seagulls flying around us? The water crashing against the sand? The entire _state_ of California?

"Either get in the water, or let's go back to the hotel. There's no reason to standing around doing _nothing_."

"Fine, lead the way. I wanted to take a nap anyway."

" _Simon_." He plants himself in front of me, arching an eyebrow. The breeze tousles his hair and I consider asking him to move here instead of New York. He may not like California, but it looks good on him. His burn has settled into the first tan I've ever seen on him, and wind swept Baz is the definitely up there in my list of favorites. "Are you scared?"

I narrow my eyes at the teasing lilt to his voice. "Why shouldn't I be?" I ask haughtily, stomping my foot. "It's not like I could _die_ out there or anything."

"My, my, old age has made you soft, Snow," he clucks. "The Chosen One I knew would have run head first into the water _because_ of the fact that it could kill him."

"I never had a death wish, you prat," I growl, reaching up to flick a curl away from my eyes. "And I'm only being practical. There could be sharks, or jellyfish, or mermaids who try to pull me down. Oh, and _hypothermia_."

He slides behind me, one hand going to my waist, the other resting on my shoulder. "And if I offer my protection, will that make you feel better?"

"I don't _need_ protection," I hiss fiercely. What I don't say is that I would like that very, _very_ much. I wouldn't hear the end of it until next month at least if I did.

"Sure you don't," he kisses a particularly sensitive spot on the back of my neck. "Doesn't mean I won't give it. Besides," he adds thoughtfully, "I can always warm you back up when we come out."

And with that, he's gone, running backwards into the ocean with an ever growing smirk on his lips. He dives into the water, a graceful arc that barely produces a splash.

"Show off," I mutter, taking off after him and falling clumsily into the water.

It _is_ cold. Painfully so. I yell as I break the surface, hoping that somehow it'll produce some sort of heat. And it's salty, coating the back of my throat and my eyes in the shit until I'm blind and coughing.

It's actually pretty fucking fantastic.

"Baz!" I scream, wading around and looking for him. I try to stop shivering, but it's especially hard to do when he explodes up from behind me, sweeping my legs from underneath me and throwing me back down. "You git," I sputter, throwing myself at him as soon as I'm upright.

He tries to shake me off but I won't let him, clinging to his neck and entangling my legs around his waist.

"This is highly inappropriate, Snow," he murmurs, stopping his wriggling long enough for me to kiss him. "We're outside."

"So?"

"In public."

"I'm not catching your _point._ "

He laughs, and it makes me tremble. "You're a terrible influence, Simon Snow."

"Me?" I ask, hopping off and flinging a piece of seaweed at him. "Before you, I was an upstanding, rule-abiding citizen."

"Other than the occasional magickal explosion and the eleven year old supervillain in your likeness?"

"Yes, _other_ than that."

"Right," he kisses me again, his lips slick and warm. "I'm thirsty. Come with me to get some water?"

"Because there's not enough here for you?" I throw my arms out and spin in a circle.

"None of it's drinkable, you twit," he calls over his shoulder, swimming towards shore. "Don't drown while I'm gone."

I don't bother answering, instead closing my eyes and floating along with the waves. I promised Penny that I wouldn't talk or even _think_ about Baz when he wasn't there after spending hours describing, in way too much detail, the properties of Baz's face to her, but she can't see my thoughts from here, so I let my mind drift.

I don't think having sex with Baz made me love him anymore. I don't think that's even possible, not really. It did make our relationship feel more…I don't know…maybe more adult? It definitely _feels_ altered being around him now. I can spend an eon watching him walk, and think of all the way he's different when he's lying under me. And now when I see him eating, I can't help but remember all the… _um_ …other activities he can do with his mouth.

And the thought of every kiss leading somewhere, leading _there_ , it's enough to make me combust.

Usually, it's around there that Penny catches me blushing, and then all thoughts of Baz are chased away as she scolds me.

It could have been like this for the last two years, and I wish I could go back to past Simon and throttle him before he started crying and messed up everything. But then maybe this energy, the one that still hasn't gone away but somehow managed to grow, would have been around for the entirety of our relationship. And maybe then I wouldn't even be able to have a conversation with him without wanting to jump his–

A wave washes over me, pushing me down and away from the shore. My arms flail uselessly as another one comes, this one knocking the breath from my chest. I push against the current pulling me deeper into the ocean, trying to use my wings as a propeller, but nothing works. The more frantic I get, the more waves come, going over me, with me, _through_ me.

I think for sure I'm a goner, my arms and legs burning from the fight and my eyes drooping shut from exhaustion, when a pair of hands wrap around my ankles and give a sharp pull. I'm dragged closer and closer to shore until I can stand on wobbly legs and cough out all the seawater that wormed its way inside of my mouth. I glance behind me once we're on solid ground, and it's almost like the waves are _following_ me. With each step, they come further and further out, making people shriek as their beach towels and blankets get drenched.

"Do you _ever_ do as your told?" Baz shouts, water dripping from his hair to his nose. He's breathing hard, and only stops rubbing his probably aching arms to crush me to him. "What did I say?" I bend over as soon as he lets me go, my chest heaving as I remind myself to breath. "Snow. What. Did. I. _Say_?"

"Don't drown," I mutter feebly.

"And what did you go and do?"

"Drown," he shakes his head, and I focus on him long enough to feel his hands trembling around my back. "I don't know what happened."

"What happened is that we're leaving and you're never going swimming _again._ "

I don't argue. After this, I don't want to go swimming again. I might even avoid the bathtub just for the sake of it. "Hey man," a lifeguard jogs up to us, lowering his sunglasses. "That looked intense."

"Oh, could you tell from where you stood _not_ saving him?" Baz snarls, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

The lifeguard, his ID says John, glances down at the sand, properly shamed. "There wasn't enough time. One second it was completely calm, and the next there're the biggest waves I've seen working here all summer. We don't get surf like that unless a storm's coming."

My eyes go up without my permission, and I feel my heart race at the sight of a cloudless, blue sky. "Well maybe next time you should actually pay attention before someone _dies_." Baz glares at John, his threat ringing loudly in the silence between us.

"Yeah, um, sorry," John says quietly, giving me a tight smile before running from us as quickly as possible.

"You didn't have to do that," I say, letting him nudge me over to where our things sit.

"And you didn't have to go and have _another_ near–death experience, but here we are." He swings our bag over his shoulder, folding the towels neatly with one hand so he won't have to let go of mine. "Come on, Bunce is going to have a fit when she hears about this."

"Not if we don't tell her," I sing hesitantly, hoping he won't notice the way I look back at the now serene water.

I don't feel it anymore, the energy that's spent the last three days pooled at the bottom of my stomach. What if it was _me_ that overpowered the ocean, not the other way around. What if _I_ did it?

* * *

 ** _PENELOPE_**

Agatha trails after us in the airport, babbling nervously about some nonsensical topic. I wish she'd shut up, but I can see her stream of chattered thoughts for what it is, a stall.

She's too anxious to give me an answer, just like she was from the moment I asked.

"Olivia thinks we should paint the room coral, but I absolutely cannot stand the color."

"You love pink Agatha," I heave my suitcase forward with a groan. Why in the world did I pack so _much_?

Agatha rolls her eyes, pushing the straps of her top back into place. "It's _coral_ , Penny. Not pink."

"Of course," I wait until we're at the gate before whirling around and cutting off the insufferable discussion of the merits of periwinkle blue over pale green. "Agatha, there's no time left for you to avoid my question."

She glances away, toying with the pendant of her necklace. "Penny–"

"Agatha, if the answer is no, just tell me, please. But," I touch her arm, forcing her eyes to meet mine, "no matter what, you can't choose family. Even if you don't want to stand beside me on my wedding day, you'll always be my family and one of my best friends."

She stills, looking more and more conflicted by the second. "That's really…sweet of you to say, Penelope, but–" She cuts herself off, a hand flying to her mouth as she thinks. "You know what? You're right. But this in no way means I'm using magic again," she adds warningly. "And if I hear one word about it, I'll leave."

"As you should," I squeal, hurling myself at her and squeezing tight. "You won't regret this, Agatha."

"No, I don't think I will," she giggles, pushing me away from her gently. "You're going to miss your flight."

I snort. "Have you never met Simon Snow? If I didn't bring the boys here at least three hours early, we would be in California for the next month." I point behind her, to where Simon tugs Baz through duty–free.

"Snow, this shit is a waste of _money_." Baz moans, waving away the oversized candy and zebra print stuffed neck pillow.

"But if I sleep without one, my head will fall off." Simon protests.

"That's inaccurate," Baz snips, begrudgingly snatching the pillow and heading to the cash register.

Agatha giggles again. "Eight years ago, would you have imagined them working? In _any_ dimension?"

"No way." I laugh. "But now I can't imagine a world with them not together. Ever."

She hums, tucking a blonde lock behind her ear, pink glossed lips pursed thoughtfully. "I'm going to go, but call me and let me know if you need anything?"

"You've officially been upgraded to speed dial."

"How lucky for me," she gives me one last parting smile, before waving over at Baz and Simon and walking towards the exit.

Simon comes up to Micah and I half way through the flight, poking a finger into Micah's shoulder to wake him up.

"Hey Micah, I've been trying to explain American football to Baz for the last half hour and I think I've only managed to confuse him more. Do you think you try?"

Micah yawns, rubbing at his eyes before nodding. "There's noting I love more than cocktail peanuts and sports." He kisses me, right on the nose because he knows it makes me giggle, which I hate but he absolutely adores. "I'll be back in a few."

"Take your time," I smile at him, watching him walk away before turning my focus over to Simon. "Okay, what is it?" I glance over at Baz, whose nose is buried in my worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. Jane Austen is far too _feminine_ for him, so he just steals my copies.

Typical.

"What makes you think there's an _it_?" He asks, trying, and failing, to appear innocent.

"Because Baz couldn't care less for American football. He thinks it's rubbish compared to real football. So, not only are you making my fiancée complicit in distracting Baz, but you're probably boring them both to tears. You're not cruel, so there's got to be a reason you're doing this."

He leans forward, dropping his voice to Simon's version of a whisper. You know, the normal volume for most other people. "Something weird happened."

"Simon, you have two minutes. You really shouldn't waste them on statements such as 'something weird happened'."

"But Penny–"

"One minute, and thirty–seven seconds."

"Fine. You know how I nearly drowned earlier?"

"You mean how Baz came back to the hotel ranting about the dangers of the ocean while you looked like a waterlogged puppy?" He pouts and I laugh. "Yes, I have a vague recollection of that."

"Well, there's something I didn't tell Baz."

That get's my attention. "What?" His eyes dart away from me, and I snap, unwilling to play the waiting game. "Simon, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

"Okay," he heaves out a sigh, "I was floating around in the water, and thinking about Baz, and I felt all this energy, right?"

"Skip to the non–sickening parts."

He glares at me, and I wave at him to continue. "Everything was really peaceful until it wasn't. I felt like I was overflowing and then all of a sudden the water was everywhere, about to drag me down."

"The ocean is unpredictable. That's why they don't allow people to swim out past a certain point."

"But I was close to the shore," he protests. "And you aren't _listening_ to me. This isn't about how far out I was. It felt like before, when I couldn't control my magic, when I used to–"

"Go off." I finish for him, my voice coming out ragged. "You don't think…?"

"That I've got my magic back?" I've always been able to read Simon, most time's he wears his thoughts on his sleeves. But there's so much in his words now that I can't pinpoint which emotion overpower the others: the fear, longing, hope, despair, or confusion. They all play an equal part, warring across his face. "I don't know."

"It's not possible, Simon," I inject as much confidence into my voice as I can muster. "You gave up you're magic, it's not as if that's reversible."

We would know. We searched every spell book, ever magickal text, every Mage professionals' opinion to see if maybe one day he could have his magic back. The answer had always been the same. And it had crushed him each and every time.

"That's right," he nods, sounding as if he's trying to convince himself. "I was always meant to be a Normal. Just because we've changed continents doesn't mean I'm any different."

My heart aches as he slumps down, his head falling forward into his hands. "Simon, I'm so sorry."

"It was stupid of me to even think it could happen." He says into his fingers. "I just, I didn't want to say anything to Baz because he would have gotten so excited, you know?"

"Yeah," I rub his back, resting my cheek on his shoulder. "But he always would have been able to comfort you ten times better than I can."

He peeks at me through the corner of his eyes, giving me a watery smile. "No one's been able to make me feel better like you Penny, not even that git Baz."

" _Especially_ not that git Baz." I tease weakly, wrapping an arm around him and gripping him tightly. He turns until his face is buried in my shoulder and groans.

"I guess I just wish I knew _why_ I was feeling like this."

"You and Baz did just take a huge leap in your relationship. Maybe it's just love you're feeling."

He shakes his, and for the first time during this talk, he looks certain of himself. "I've been in love with him for longer than I even realized. I know what it feels like more than anything in the world, and this definitely isn't it."

"It could be all the change?" I offer up hesitantly. "The past two months has been a lot to handle, and you've done it with flying colors. It's not completely out of the realm of possibility to be feeling out of sorts because of it."

"Yeah," he exhales wearily, " _yeah_ , that's probably it."

"I can tell Micah to stay over there if you want to talk some more?" He cuddles deeper into my side and I think he's going to say yes, but then he pulls back and scratching at the back of his curls.

"No, I should probably get back to Baz. He'll murder me for interrupting his reading."

"As he should." I jab a finger into his side, making him jump. "That book is sacred and you ruined it with football talk."

"Shove off, Penny. I'm going to get enough of it from Baz."

"All right," I laugh, "send my future husband over, please."

"As you wish," he grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He walks out into the aisle, filling up the entire space, before pausing. "Hey Penny?" He calls over his shoulder, suddenly shy. "Thanks, for talking to me."

"We'll waste way too much time if you thank me every time I'm your voice of reason."

He chuckles, rolling his eyes before going back over to Baz and Micah. He leans forward, murmuring to them quietly as Micah stands and walks back over to me. "I was the distraction, wasn't I?"

I touch his cheek, pulling him down to me and resting my forehead against his. "I'm sorry." He stares back at me, waiting for an explanation. "I've paid attention to everyone but you ever since you gave me this."

He looks down, taking my left hand in his and smiling softly. "Groomsmen are easy. All I had to do was call my brothers and ask if they wanted to be in the wedding party. You had to fly to California and spend the better part of a week trying to convince Agatha to be a bridesmaid. The way I see it, you've been having a harder time than me, especially for the person who's going to be planning most of this thing."

"And then there're my adult children," my gaze strays over to the next row of seats. Simon's curled around Baz, his head mashed against Baz's chest and his arms wound around his waist. Baz frowns down at him, forehead crinkled with bewilderment. He can tell there's something wrong, and a perpetually concerned part of me wants to go over and work things out with them.

It's always been instinct to be there for Simon. He didn't have anyone in his corner, not really, so I found a home there. And that won't ever change, but I have a new home now too. Micah watches me expectantly, hazel eyes cheerful and curious. And they're enough to keep my rooted to my spot and solely focused on him. "Good practice for the real ones."

"How'd you get so sweet?"

"You'll have to wait and figure it out yourself." He says, dropping a light kiss to my chin before leaning back and snatching my magazine. "From what I've heard, you're really good at that."

I smile back at him, shifting closer to him. "Yes, I am."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

"And what's wrong with this one?" I sneer at Penelope, accidentally crumpling the paper I held as my hands ball into fists.

"It's too far from Micah and I," she says back just as testily. "What will we do when you're being a complete prat and Simon needs to escape?"

"Simon won't need to escape," I don't add the last part of my thought (heavy on profanity, won't speed along this little spat), "and I happen to like it."

"Of course you do," she rolls her eyes. "Simon, what do you think?"

Simon looks over at us sharply, surprised to be involved. We made it abundantly clear early in the day that Simon's involvement in picking a flat was to be…limited. If he had his way, we'd be living on top of a bar (or a Chuck E Cheese's.) "Um, it's nice, I guess." (Cue the shrug…) He shrugs, his eyes going back to the top of his trainers.

"See, he says it's nice," I exclaim triumphantly.

"We've been at this for hours and it's been ages since lunch. I'm sure Simon would say the gates to hell are nice if it meant cherry scones and some tea."

"Are we going to get food?" Simon suddenly perks up, staring at me hopefully. "There'll be more flats tomorrow, right Penny?"

"We can't leave until we've made a decision on this place." I stare unwaveringly at Penelope, daring her to argue. "And, for what it's worth, I think this place is fantastic."

And is it. High ceilings, hard wood floors, a terrace in front of the hallway and an incredibly view from the bedroom. It's a fortune, but Father's so pleased that I've been accepted to Julliard that he offered to subsidize some of the cost (all of the cost, neither Simon nor I have jobs, or any non magickal skills). A beautiful bathroom, an even more beautiful kitchen, it's exactly the flat I always imagined when I thought of creating a life for myself.

And the sooner we can move in, the better. It became woefully apparent when we returned from California and I realized that I paid for the hotel the entire time we were gone.

"Bunce, I can't afford this," I moaned, falling onto Micah's couch and calculating just how much money I'd wasted. "At the rate we're going, there's no way I'll be able to pay for Julliard, NYU, and an apartment."

Penelope let her suitcase fall, staring at me with narrowed eyes. "NYU? When did Simon get in there?"

"He doesn't know," I replied distractedly, glaring down at the bill in my hands. "My father knows some of the members on the board of administration, and Simon's grades were just shy of abysmal, so they're taking him."

"You're father can't just _know_ the entirety of New York," she cried. "And they can't just be accepting people in the middle of the summer."

I arch an eyebrow up at her. "I figured that maybe you hadn't thought of what you were doing this year either, so I asked him to mention you as well. You start in August, if you want to."

She stilled, her visible annoyance seeping away. "Oh," she smiled, pulling her hair back into a ponytail (she would need to either sheer it off again, or dye it another ridiculous color. It felt strange, seeing her brown and curly.). "Well, why didn't you say that before?"

"When, Bunce? You never shut up."

And here she is, once again refusing to shut up. "We've only been looking for two days Baz, why are you in such a hurry?"

"Because it's not exactly comfortable sharing the pullout couch with this one," I jerk my thumb over to Simon, who still has yet to look up from the floor. "He pushed me off the bed last night, again."

"Not me," Simon pipes up, "my wings. Not my fault."

We ignore him. "Think of all the things we need to do before classes start. We need to get furniture, see what we can do about subletting the flat, buy more clothes, and school supplies. Getting this place would be a step in the right direction."

"What about the flat beside Micah's?"

Even Simon groans at this prospect. "Micah's great Bunce, really. But he must have been having an off day when he decided to move into the hovel he calls an apartment."

Penelope glares at us…before pressing her hand to the wall and banging her forehead against it. "Who am I kidding? We might end up moving in with you." She glances around, looking for the realtor that led us into the lift, before dropping her voice. "I saw someone doing _drugs_ in the alleyway last night," she whispers, sounding scandalized. "Cocaine, if I had to guess."

"Well, you would only be able to move in with us if you say yes to this place." We made a deal, when she knew I was tired and distracted (the sneaky little witch), that the only way we could close the sale was if Penelope also agreed.

"It is lovely," she sighs wistfully, running her fingers along the walls (beige, freshly painted I think). "And it would be wonderful for entertaining."

"Because we know so many people," I reply wryly. She scowls at me, and I snap my mouth shut. I don't need her changing her mind just to spite me, especially when I caught sight of the eager couple leaving before we walked in. "Come on, Bunce. Now or never." I finally bite.

"Fine, _fine_ ," she says begrudgingly. "It's beautiful. Buy it please, before _I_ do."

"Yes," I exclaim, throwing an arm around her waist and spinning her around.

"Put me down Basil," she smacks at my shoulder until I set her back on the ground, "I've allowed you to buy a flat, not agreed to marry you."

"One day soon Bunce," I wink, going over to Simon and grinning. He looks up, and his expression is enough to dampen some of my excitement. "All right?"

"Yeah," he nods, shoving his hands down into his pockets and hunching forward. "M'okay."

"You do like this place, yeah? If you don't we can keep looking." My heart sinks at the idea, but there's something off about him and I'd rather see his smile than own hundred flats like this. (The very thought causes me an immense amount of pain. But I stick by it. No one will ever say that Basilton Pitch isn't the best boyfriend.)

"No, this place is great."

I take his chin in my hand, and nudge it up until his eyes are glued to mine. "You sure? You're not just rushing it because you know I like it?"

"Baz, buy the stupid flat, I don't care." He yanks away from me, the fire in his expression dying away when he sees how I flinch. "Sorry," he mumbles, "sorry. I'm just tired and hungry. How about I meet you guys back at Micah's?"

Penelope steps forward, laying a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. She knows I want to push, that I won't let him leave until I know what's wrong. And it's moments like this that they're eleven years of friendship comes in handy. "Sure Si. You know the way, right?"

He nods, slipping out of the room without so much as a parting glance.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

I wanted to be there with him, with the both of them, but there was too much going on in my head to focus on square footage and working fireplaces.

I'm not exactly sure why Baz is so excited to have three, what with the _flammability_ of it all. But he was like me in a pastry shop when he saw them, so I didn't say anything.

After I talked to Penny, I thought it would be the end of it. There was no way I could have my magic, the smartest person I knew had confirmed it, but the feelings weren't going away. I woke up with it the day after we arrived back in New York, tried to shove it away all day long, and curled up for bed with it threatening to spill over.

Still, it was all hypothetical until yesterday.

"Coffee, I need copious amounts of it," Penny stumbled into the kitchen, tugging on the hem of her shorts.

"No one told you to stay up so late," I laughed, feeling particularly superior. "But you just had to watch all ten hours of that dumb documentary."

"Making a Murderer isn't _dumb_ ," she snipped, grabbing for the instant coffee with a crinkle of her nose. "Hasn't Micah ever heard of an actual coffee maker?"

"Sure," Micah came up behind her, kissing the back of her neck and snatching the coffee from her. "But instant works just fine."

"If you're an uncultured heathen, or I guess I should say American. Lord knows they're synonymous."

"Those are fighting words, the future Mrs. Abano." She reached up and messed with his hair, black curls flying haphazardly underneath her hands.

"It's the twenty–first century Micah. I'll be keeping my last name, thank you very much."

"We've got time, I'm sure I'll convince you otherwise." He held onto her waist, pulling her close. She laughed, coffee and sleepiness forgotten.

Taking my bowl of cereal, I flicked a fruit loop at them. "If Baz and I are _this_ gross, I apologize. Sincerely."

"Apology not accepted," Penny giggled, "we're no where near as insufferable. But we can definitely try, can't we Micah?"

"I've always been able to rise to a challenge," Micah blew on her ear, making her yelp.

"Gross," I called over my shoulders, leaving them alone. They hadn't had much time together, what with Baz and I being constantly around.

I decided to go eat outside, far from the _loud_ couple. It was always too warm for me during the summers. Even without constantly running hot, I still liked it a little cooler, and late July mornings were made just for me.

It happened so quickly I wasn't sure what it was at first. One second, I was watching as a pair of birds flew from the tree in front of Micah's apartment, and the next…

It felt like those waves crashing over me, each one coming again and again until it coated my skin.

" _Crowley_ ," I shook out my hands, sucked in as much air as I could, tried to relax, but nothing helped. One last wave, big enough to leave me gasping, rushed through me, and then it was out.

It didn't cause the destruction I thought it would. The ground didn't split open. Nothing _died_. No, it swept over the trees like a strong gust of wind. It made the wind chimes in the closest five miles begin to sing. It made the dogs next door bark. It made me feel _normal_ again.

Baz came out, running his tongue over his lips, looking bemused. "You feel that?" He asked, frowning.

I gulped, my mouth dry and my heart hammering painfully in my chest. "What?" I croaked.

"I don't know," he craned his neck, "felt like the beach." He shrugged, rolling his shoulders before shaking it off. "Seeing Wellbelove has turned me into one of those blonde idiots. All I can think of lately is the damned Pacific." He nodded to my bowl. "You finished with that? I could use a bite to eat, but Bunce and Micah are being intentionally nauseating."

I gave it to him wordlessly, hunger the last thing on my mind. "Thanks, love." He sat beside me, glancing over at me every few seconds as he chewed. "It's not like you to give up food. I was expecting a no."

"Not hungry," I shrugged. He pursed his lips, constantly suspicious of me. You would think I spent the first seven years at Watford plotting against _him._

I couldn't tell him what was wrong then.

And I still can't find the words to tell him now. Ironic. Just as I get my magic back, I lose the ability to speak.


	10. Chapter 10

_**SIMON**_

It's pathetic, but I carry around my wand with me, tucked in the bottom of my backpack. Almost three years without magic, and it still calms some of the anger I feel whenever I think about everything that happened those last few years at Watford. I just never knew it would come in handy.

I start testing it out slowly, and it's like flexing a muscle I'd forgotten to use in ages.

No, it feels like getting an arm back. It feels like a fucking gift and a curse all at once.

Penny's singing in the shower the first time I try a spell. She's a terrible singer, off pitch from the get go. Normally I raise the volume of the television as far as it can go until she runs out of the bathroom, hair coated in conditioner and clinging to a towel.

"Are you _deaf_?" She would ask, blinking quickly against the burn of shampoo.

"If you keep singing I will be," I would shoot back. It's our regular routine. It would be comforting if not for the fact that my ears bleed a little each time she starts.

Today, I go for something a little different.

Now that I know what to look for, I feel my magic constantly. Crashing against the inside of my skin, swirling around like a tide pool, deeper than the depths of the ocean. And I start to understand what magic is like for other people. A never–ending flame in Baz, a bottomless well in Penelope.

 ** _"_** ** _Open Sesame."_** I whisper, and watch as the bathroom door swings open a few inches. The wood doesn't splinter and it stays on its hinges, so I consider it a success. " ** _Open Sesame."_** I try again, louder this time. It pushes forward a bit more. There's sweat doting my forehead, and my arm quivers with the strain of it, but it's the good kind of ache. This time when I say it, it comes out a little less than a shout, and thick with magic. And the door flies forward, banging against the tub and making Penny shriek.

"Baz! Micah! Whichever of you _children_ is doing this, _stop_ ," she yells, and the door slams shut. I'm sort of gasping, sucking in more air than I need because it feels like that's the only way to shove my magic back down. It doesn't go down easily, not by a long shot, but it takes less of me to get it to do what I want than before.

"Simon!" Baz races into the room, flustered. "Are you not ready to go?"

"Go?"

He groans, stretching his lips over his fangs. "You said you wanted to be there when I signed the papers for the flat."

I don't remember that, but I haven't been paying much attention to anything lately. "Go on without me. I promised I would help Penny get school supplies."

"Did you now?" Penny steps out from the bathroom fully dressed, dragging a brush through her hair and wincing at each knot. With Baz's eyes on her, I shoot her my most pleading look

Don't rat me out Penny, _please_. "Right, I forgot." She lies smoothly, and I don't think Baz notices the way she squints at me. "Give me a few minutes to get my shoes and we'll be off."

Baz sniffs. "I would have assumed you would like to join, Bunce, what with you not allowing me to make any choices on my own."

"I'm sure you can handle signing a few documents. Of course I can come and hold your hand if you'd like."

He sneers at her, which only makes her laugh. "I'm leaving."

She waits until she's sure he's gone before whirling on me. "Lying to the boyfriend? Highly suspicious."

"It's not _technically_ a lie," I reply, reaching down and grabbing my tail so I'll have something to do with my hands. My wand pokes into my back, but if I move, she'll see it. "We can go and get supplies. But we'll need to make a pit stop along the way."

"All right, Simon. You're making me nervous."

"Come on," slipping my wand into my back pocket, I pull her up from where she laces her shoes. "I can't think of a better way to show you what's going on. I'll explain once we get there."

She's nearly boiling over with questions by the time the cab pulls up in front of one of Julliard's performance halls. "What are we doing _here_ , Simon?" She asks as I pay the driver. "How did you even know where this is?"

"Baz brought me here once," I take her by the elbow and tug her forward. She allows herself to be pulled but yanks away from me as soon as we enter the theatre. "Come on Penny, we're already here, might as well go all the way."

"If this is some sort of sacrifice, I'm going to be incredibly pissed."

"If I planned on sacrificing you, I would have done it ages ago for unlimited scones." She's silent as she considers what I've said, before nodding begrudgingly.

She goes up the stairs to the stage with me, and it really is incredible. It feels as if the rows of chairs stretch on for miles, thousands of people watching. I spent a lifetime having people scrutinizing my every mistake, but up here, people would only see the good.

I can see why Baz loves it.

"You have five minutes Simon," Penny folds her arms around herself, bouncing on her toes to keep warm. The air conditioning is cranked all the way up, and it makes me shiver. "What's going on?"

I don't answer, hesitating slightly before blowing out a sigh and taking out my wand. "Simon…" her eyebrows knit together with confusion.

Ignoring her, I feel around for my magic, balling it up and directing it towards my wand. " ** _All That Jazz!_** " For a second, I'm afraid nothing will happen. That this morning was a one time thing and I'm just as magickless as always.

And then a single note rings through the theatre, a violin hovering in the air and bow moving across the string. Penny gasps, a hand flying to her mouth as another violin joins in.

And then another one.

And another one.

And then a supersized version of a violin. _Cello_ , a voice that sounds a lot like Baz's supplies for me.

Soon, an entire orchestra is playing a song that sounds pretty familiar. If I close my eyes, I can see Baz standing in the living room, his face a mask of concentration as he draws the bow over the strings. His fingers moving faster than I can see them.

He's never more beautiful than when he's playing.

"Simon," Penny steps forward, touching my hand. It startles me, and a wrong note rips through the song. "You were _right_ ," she sounds stunned, and that in itself is astonishing. Penny is rarely ever surprised. But I guess I've made a sort of habit of doing just that. "Your magic…"

"It's back," I finish for her when she can't. She whips around and around, taking it all in, before turning back to me, a beam breaking out across her face.

"This is incredible!" She screams, clapping her hands together excitedly. It makes my heart sprint and the song picks up space to match it. "Simon, why aren't you elated? This is the best news we've gotten in years!" She throws her arms around me, squeezing tight.

I hug her back for a second, before gently disentangling myself from her. "Simon," she cocks her head to the side, her expression falling, "what's wrong? Maybe elation is a bit of a stretch, but I don't think expecting a tiny bit of happiness is too much."

"I think I have to go," I say shakily, and then it dawns on me. The reason why I can't enjoy this, why I can't think of my magic without overwhelming sadness, is because I always knew deep down that it meant I couldn't stay.

"Okay, " Penny frowns, "we can head back to the apartment, talk about this there. Have you told Baz yet? Because I'm sure he'll love it."

"No," I shake my head, swiping angrily at my cheeks, "I have to go _home._ Back to England."

"What in the world would give you that idiotic idea?"

I back away from her, because I can't let her excitement touch me. If it does, I'll have hope that this will all work out. And then it'll be that much more devastating when it doesn't.

"Baz and I, we work like _this_. No magic, no danger because of me. When I–when I was the Chosen One...there was a death sentence lingering over the both of us. We just never knew who the executioner would be."

"That wasn't because of magic, Simon. It was because of everything else. The Mage," her voice cracks, "the war, the –"

"Insidious Humdrum?" I growl. "The dead spots? Everything The Mage did," this time we both cringe. "It was because of _me_ and my magic, all of it. And Baz was hurt over and over again because of it. There's no dimension where magickal Simon and vampire Baz can be together."

"You're wrong," Penny says firmly, but she's shaking too. "You can't _leave_ Simon. Not now, it'll kill him. It'll kill the both of you."

"No, it might hurt us, but this is the only way I can make sure he stays alive."

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"Bloody idiots," I seethe, slamming the door shut and scowling at the driver as I throw the money at him. "Fucking assholes." The driver stares back at me, (offended by my language, or the fact that he has to fish a five from the floor, I don't know. I don't care very much either) before peeling away from the curb, nearly clipping a parked car.

I add him to my list of people to curse, swallowing back a snarl when a petite, blonde woman walks up to me.

"Tyrannus Pitch?" She asks sweetly, stumbling over my name like most tend to do.

"I go by Basilton actually," she flinches away from my tone, jagged and annoyed, and I have to remind myself that she's not the reason I'm currently in such a foul mood. (Well, not the sole reason anyway.)

"I'm not understanding the problem," I fumed an hour earlier, glaring at the bald-headed man in front of me as he fiddled with the papers in his hands. "I want to buy this apartment and you need to make a sale."

"It's not that simple," he stammered, shrinking away from me as I bared my teeth. Just because I was feeding from Simon didn't mean the urge to drain those who annoy me ever truly went away. "I was only planning on renting."

I glared at him, standing and pacing along the floor. It was something to do, something to keep me from lunging across the table and sinking my fangs into his neck. It also had the added bonus of increasing his obvious anxiety. "Really? Because I heard the tail end of that conversation you had with the earlier couple. You didn't seem to have any problem discussing sale prices with them."

"That was different," he chewed nervously on the end of pen cap.

"How so?" I asked coolly, holding onto the back of my vacated chair and leaning forward. "Is it because I seem like the type of fool who would agree to renting an apartment at an inappropriately high price? Or because while the other couple was prehistoric, my boyfriend and I are just young and naïve enough to fall for your shit?"

"Neither," he nearly screamed, cowering in his seat. I almost took pity for him (almost). "But-"

"But nothing Mr. Casey. Either you plan to sell me this apartment, or I'll do you one better and buy the damned building." I wouldn't. (Even if Father would give me the money, which is so ridiculous a notion that I won't even think of it, there's no way Simon and I could take care of a building. Simon would, I don't know, do something ridiculous, probably dealing with food.)

But Mr. Casey took one good look at me, at my grey suit (Penelope makes fun of the sheer amount of suits I own. I think it makes me look professional. Simon says it makes me look like a Bond villain. I think he likes that) and my characteristically disdainful expression, and he was trembling.

"Very well, Mr. Pitch. Here," he thrust the papers out to me, and I had half a mind to rip them up. Throw them back into his face. And then bite him.

I did none of those things. Instead, I signed the papers, made sure the funds were properly transferred and left the flat, now my flat, feeling both smug and irritated.

I planned to return to Micah's and complain to Simon, but just as soon as I'd flagged down a cab, my phone rang.

"Yes," I snapped, holding a hand up to the driver when he began to pull into traffic.

"Tyrannus Basilton Pitch?"

"This is he."

"Excellent," the woman squeaked, "I'm Stephanie Kane, and I'll be your peer advisor this year? I thought it would be nice if we could meet before classes start; make this transition as easy as possible for you by showing you where everything is?" She had a grating voice, the type that turned up into a question even when it wasn't meant to.

"That really won't be necessary."

"Nonsense," I didn't think she could muster anything above a squeak, "I'm free, and you're in the city, right?"

"Well, yes-"

"Then I'll see you in fifteen." The phone cut off and I was left staring at the screen, appalled. And then I turned to the driver. "Do you know the address of The Peter Jay Sharp Theater?" He nodded mutely. "Outstanding, let's go."

Hence my snapping. It seems that everyone this morning seems hell-bent on aggravating me. "You're Stephanie, yes?" I manage to be somewhat polite and she runs with it.

"Yeah, but most people call me Stephie, or Steph, anything's fine."

"Great." When it's clear I don't plan on saying much else, she takes a tentative step towards me.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you?" She says, giving me a quick hug. I stiffen, but don't push her away. "I've heard so much about you, everyone around here has?"

I frown, inching away from her and smoothing my hands down my jacket. "Really? How?"

"Someone leaked your audition video, you were incredible? Especially for someone with no classical training?"

I run my tongue over my teeth, grimacing slightly when my fangs poke into me. "I had private tutors but my other…studies took priority."

"Of course?" She's so short that she has to crane her neck all the way back to smile at me. "Well, we're glad to have snatched you up now? Should we start the tour?"

I feel a headache coming on, but she's taken the time out of her schedule to play tour guide, so the least I can do is humor her. "Please."

"Cool," she bounces forward, glancing over her shoulder, "well come on then, slow poke, we've got a lot of ground to cover?" I shuffle towards her, my shoulders slumping forward (being with Simon has been murderous on my posture) and adopt what I can only hope passes for a friendly smile. "First stop, my absolute favorite performance hall on campus? I played there my freshman year in a showcase and it was the best feeling in the entire world?"

I very rarely get to speak with anyone other than my father about music, and my curiosity begins to outweigh my general reluctance. "What instrument do you play?"

"Instruments," she corrects, her shoulders straightening and her voice becoming less perky, more assured. "I started playing the cello when I was five, the harp when I was eight, the alto sax and the guitar when I was thirteen, and I actually just started the piano."

I nod, my respect for her tripling in seconds. "And here I thought I was impressive."

She snorts, holding the door to one of the more popular performance halls open for me. "Please. I've never heard anyone play Tchaikovsky's _Violin Concerto_ like you. You've got all the violinists shaking in their boots." She pauses. "Or black loafers I guess."

I chuckle before I can stop myself. Maybe she won't be as infuriating as I thought. "Only the violinists?"

"I'm untouchable here Basilton, but I think you may have worried some freshman?" She teases, elbowing me lightly.

"Baz," I say, making the decision quickly that maybe this girl won't make for a terrible friend (and it's not like I don't _need_ some. Simon, Bunce, Micah on occasion, and a few guys from uni back in England make for a small circle). "Most people call me Baz."

She nods, and her smile looses some of its sheen, becomes more genuine. "Baz, cool." She starts to say something else, but then stops and tilts her head to the side, listening. Now that I'm paying attention, I can hear it to, faintly. "No one should be in here?"

It doesn't take me long to recognize the notes. Beethoven's _Fourth_. My favorite piece to listen to, and one of my favorites to play when I haven't practiced in a while and need something to loosen my limbs and get me back into the music.

"Come on, normally my advisees don't get to see me banish people from my hall, but I already knew you were special."

"Your hall?"

"I really hope this backtalk won't be a normal occurrence Baz," she laughs, pushing into the hall.

I follow after her, but grab her shoulders and whirl her around when I see what's happening.

" ** _Make a Wish!"_** Bunce cries, and the music screeches to a halt. Stephanie tries to turn around and I tighten my grip on her shoulders, watching as the instruments hover in the air for one final moment before floating back to where they came from.

"Um, I like you too Baz, but I think you're going to have to let go," Stephanie bats at my hands, whipping around before I can stop her. Her eyes dart around the stage, and her confusion is palpable. "Who are you?" She calls.

Penelope looks as if she wants to flee, and Simon…

Simon's all wrong. His face is flushed, and his eyes are red (from crying most likely). If I breathe in too deep, I can taste the salt in the air, and it's coming straight from him.

"We just wanted to get a look at where Baz'll be spending her time," Penelope says, bounding down the stairs and pulling Simon along. "And now that we have, I think we'll be off."

"You know them?" Stephanie asks, turning to look at me. "Well, of course you know them," she bangs her forehead with a laugh, "what with the whole British thing. And it's not like you have a super common name or anything."

"Yes, this is Penelope Bunce and my boyfriend, Simon Snow."

Stephanie slaps her hand to her forehead again. "Boyfriend? I totally misread some signs! Good thing we got _that_ out of the way." I would blush if I could, but I haven't had anything to drink in the last two days. "Hi, I'm Stephanie?" She shakes both their hands before they have the chance to offer it to her. "I'm Baz's peer advisor."

I watch Simon carefully, expecting a laugh, a smile (the usual Snow nonsense). Instead, his eyes meet mine for a second before moving away like I've burned him. "Nice to meet you, Stephanie." Penelope says, throwing a concerned glance over at Simon.

"Yeah," Simon mumbles.

"Say Stephanie," I start, "would you mind if we reschedule this tour?" Simon's eyes dart up, and he gives the slightest shake of his head. I keep going, squinting at him. "I should head back with them."

"No," Simon says, and it makes me tense up, "stay. This is important."

Stephanie looks from Simon to me, and she frowns. "It can wait?"

"No, it can't. Penny, let's go." He takes her arm and begins pulling. They've disappeared before I realize what's happening.

"I'm really sorry Stephanie-"

She shakes away my apology. "I don't even know them and I could tell that something was up. Go, we can do this some other day."

By the time I get to the curb, they're long gone.

By the time I finally get a cab, they're probably back at the apartment.

By the time I'm standing in front of Micah's apartment, I'm ready for the world to end.


	11. Chapter 11

**_SIMON_**

"What exactly were you two doing?" Baz asks, walking into the apartment and glaring at me. Penny tries to pull her hand from mine but I hold tight. I know she doesn't think I should do this, but there's no way I'll be able to face Baz without her.

"I _really_ should leave the two of you to talk," Penny says, staring pointedly down at our intertwined fingers. I growl at her, as if she's getting out of this that easy. "Fine," she huffs, "Simon wanted to show me something. He did, and now I really must be _going."_

"Traitor," I snarl underneath my breath, and she throws an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she scurries away.

"I'd ask, but you and Bunce never did master that whole normal thing," he musters up a half-hearted chuckle, and I know he's on to me. "All right?"

"M'okay," I mumble, making room on the couch so he can sit.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Baz, I'm fine." He reaches over and presses his hand to my knee, stopping its bouncing. "A little jumpy, but whatever."

"You would _tell_ me if there was something wrong though, right?" He tries to sound conversational, but his fingers are squeezing hard enough to bruise and his eyes are liquid pools of mercury boring into mine.

I gulp hard, nodding because there are no words in my head. "Good," he sighs, "because I have a present for you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of keys, taking my hand and laying one in my palm. "It took a bit of persuasion, but we got the flat."

I want to kiss him. He's so happy, he glows, and I want to kiss him. Because I don't know when I'll be able to again. But, if I kiss him, the last bit of my resolve will disappear. And if I don't leave, I won't be able to save him from _me_.

"Thanks," I run my fingers along the grooves of the key, focusing on the way it bites into my skin. If I concentrate on the pain, maybe this won't be so difficult. "But I can't keep this."

"What? You afraid you going to lose them? I got a spare set to give to Bunce, but we can go and get some more made."

"No, Baz. I can't _keep_ this." I set it on the table, twisting my hands together and training my eyes to the floor. "I'm not staying."

He doesn't say anything, and suddenly I need to keep talking to fill the silence. "I've been giving it a lot of thought. And you know I never do that, not _ever_ , so you've got to believe that I'm this really seriously. It's just, New York and everything, it's your dream, not mine. I don't want another school, another life. I like the one I have back in England." The lies squeeze past the lump in my throat but sound easy to my own ears.

When I finally look over at him, at the way all the color drains from his face, my stomach tightens into a thick knot. He's as grey as the first day of school, eyes dulling with every word I say.

"You don't want a life here?" He whispers, completely still.

"I thought I could do this for you," the words hitch in my chest. I'm choking on them. "But it's all too much." I try to swallow, but it comes out as a feeble cough.

"You don't want a life…with me?"

I jump forward, taking his wrists and clasping them as tightly as I can. "No, I _do_. I just can't do it here. We still have the apartment in London, and I can get over the whole flying thing. We can make this work."

He still hasn't looked at me. "I told you that I wouldn't do this unless you were with me." He's freezing to the touch, and getting colder by the second. "I'll pack my things. _We'll_ go back."

"You're not giving this up for me," he jerks away from my hand and I fall to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. "I won't let you."

"You won't let me?" He's a mass of contradictions, a sheet of ice with a fire burning underneath. "This isn't your decision, Snow." He stands, walking towards the door stiffly. "Give me some time to settle everything with Julliard and then the flat, and we'll be on our way."

"No," I rush up from the floor, "Baz, you can't."

"Interestingly enough, I would have said the exact same thing if you came to me fucking weeks ago and said you were having doubts," he shouts, and it's the first crack in the top layer. "And yet, you," he jerks a finger at me, disbelief and betrayal and rage, so much _rage,_ playing across his face, "you decided to tell me this now? Two weeks before we're both meant to start classes?"

"Because I knew you would try to stop me!" I scream back, and it feels good. I don't want to be sad, or depressed, and anger's easier. Yeah, anger. My fury brings tears to my eyes and sobs up my throat.

Crowley, I _hate_ it when I cry like this. I can't keep a damned thought hidden from him once the tears start. And he already reads me so easily. " _Aleister,_ of course I would try to stop you!" He shoots up, his hands balling at his side. "You're my _boyfriend_ , Simon. You can't just decide to fucking leave the country!"

"I already did." He blurs in front of me, and my eyes sting. Still, I can't bring myself to blink, because I'll only get a few more moments like this. I've planned a lifetime of staring at Baz. It'll be strange when I won't be able to. "And my plane leaves two days from now."

He stills, his jaw dropping as he gazes at me with wide eyes. "You bought a ticket?" He gasps. "You're doing this? You're actually _leaving_." He sways, and I move just in time, catching him as he falls. He clings to me, curling into a ball and pressing his forehead to my neck. "Please don't do this Simon, _please_." He weeps, shooting ripples of pain up through me. I smooth his hair back, rocking us both back and forth as I try to quiet my own sniffles.

"I don't want to leave you, Baz. I really don't. Please don't make this harder than it needs to be." I murmur, his nose brushing against my chest and his fist curling around my shirt. I don't know who I'm trying to comfort, or who needs it more, or how I'll ever live with the memory of him like this, utterly destroyed because of _me._

I just know it hurts. _Crowley,_ it hurts.

"Please," I whisper, more for myself, "just let me go."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

I don't know how long we stay on the floor. Penelope and Micah each walk in at some point, take a quick look at us, and then make themselves scarce, but I don't care.

I don't care about anything.

He wants to pack his things by himself, but his clothes are so intermixed with mine that I end up beside him, silently folding my shirts.

"Crowley, have you never heard of an iron?" I sneer, taking one of my button downs and trying to smooth out the wrinkles, letting out a frustrated roar when I can't.

For all that's wrong with this situation and the choices he's making, I do have to give him this; he doesn't rise to my bait. I want to support him, but I just don't understand how he can think being thousands of miles away from each other is a solution to a problem I didn't even realize we had.

"I don't think it can be helped," he frowns, handing it back to me gingerly. "I'll buy you a new one if you want."

"You planning on shipping it to me then?" I ask, jerking up from the ground and kicking my suitcase away. Let him search for his things. "I promised Stephanie I would reschedule the tour for today, so I guess I'll just see you later."

"Don't go Baz," he pleads. "I leave _tomorrow_."

"And nothing I say will make a difference," I snarl, "so, I'm going to go deal with my future. Which you apparently won't be apart of."

"You're being really unfair," he argues, and he's seconds from crying again. He scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a wary sigh.

"Maybe so."

"I'm doing this for the both of us." I wonder if he genuinely believes that, or if maybe it's the only way he can convince himself to get on the plane.

"How noble of you, Snow."

"Simon," he says challengingly, walking forward until his toes touch mine. (Goddamn my heart, still racing at the sight of his socked feet. I might be a self-diagnosed foot fetishist.) "You call me Snow when you're mocking me, when you're laughing and I know you love me. You can't call me Snow like this."

"Like what, _Snow_?" His name is ten syllables in my mouth, long and drawn out and bitter.

"Like _this_ ," he throws his hand out and gestures at me, "like when I thought you hated me. Like when I never imagined I could love you this much. Like-like…" he shakes his head, at a loss for words.

So I help him. "I can't do this right now. I can't cancel on Stephanie again. Bad impressions and all that."

"It's not like we have a ton of time for this conversation, Baz."

I purse my lips (I don't want to admit that he's right. But I don't want to fight with him anymore. I only want one thing from him and it's the one thing he won't do.) "I'm sorry, I really have to go."

I go over to the door, resisting the urge to look back at him. "I'm sorry, too," he whispers.

I still don't look back.

Penelope drags me to the airport with them the next day, says I'll regret it if he leaves and I'm not there to say goodbye. What she doesn't seem to realize is that it won't matter.

"You'll call me when you land?" Penelope asks him, even though it sounds more like an order. "And I don't mean after you've reached the flat, had a late dinner and a few scones. I mean the second the plane touches down."

Simon hassles his hair, so long and golden since he refuses to cut it. I wonder belatedly if it'll be as long as mine the next time I see him (and then I wonder if there'll even be a next time.) "Yes mum," he teases, yanking her into an embrace. "You better be waiting by the phone."

"I still think you're making a mistake," her voice drops, and she casts her gaze over to me for a moment. I raise an eyebrow, studying her carefully. There's something in her eyes, something that just doesn't sit right. It's close to a knowing glimmer, a burden that she doesn't want to carry.

"Don't start Penny," he murmurs back, "this is hard enough." He pulls back from her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before slapping Micah's back. "Don't let her get into too much trouble."

"As if he could _let_ me do anything," Penelope snorts. He laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"If anything, you're the one who'll need a babysitter," Micah jokes good-naturedly, either purposefully blind or truly oblivious to the tension in the air. Because next in line is me, and I have no idea what Simon will say. And I don't even want to think about what I'll be expected to do when he's gone.

"Well," Simon starts, shoving his hands into his pocket and looking at me hopefully (what does he want anyway? My blessing?), "I'll ring you too when I get back to the flat?"

"Don't bother." He flinches, and I regret it instantly. I promised myself that I wouldn't say a thing. It would only lead to trouble because I want to hurt him. I want him to feel the pain resting in the pit of my stomach. And I swore to myself a long time ago that I would never hurt Simon Snow ever again.

"Come on Baz, this doesn't have to be a big deal," he steps towards me. I inch away from him before I can think. "Can I at least get a goodbye?"

I clamp my lips shut, determined not to go back on my word. But if I look at him too long, if I say goodbye, if I let him kiss me, I'll shatter. And there'll be no one left to pick up the pieces when all I can do is hurt.

Still, I can't handle having him stare at me with those ordinary, extraordinary eyes, so finally my lips curve into a sneer. "You'll miss your flight."

He sucks in a shuddery breath, and I know he's about to cry.

No one can cry like Simon fucking Snow. (That thought breaks my heart. It feels like the last time I'll ever see it.)

"Okay then, I guess I'm off." He lingers, and I count out my heartbeats waiting for him to leave.

 _One._ No more wings brushing against my cheeks. No tail wrapped around my ankle.

 _Two._ No more moles and laughs and cherry scones.

 _Three._ No more tawny curls and whispered I-love-you's at five o'clock in the morning.

 _Four -_ No more anything.

Penelope clears her throat, and I rip my eyes away from Simon's back. "You ready to go?" She asks tentatively. It makes me frown. Penelope Bunce is a lot of things (a lot of annoying things), but she's never hesitant. "Baz?" She says gently, taking my hand and squeezing. "Come on."

I follow after them numbly; ignoring the concerned glances Penelope throws my way. "You two will visit all the time, and you'll stay busy with school." We're outside, and the sun is too bright. It's boiling the little blood inside of me. And it doesn't help that it feels like she's _keeping_ something from me. Every worried sigh and tender look, it burns me from inside out. "Everything will be okay."

I pride myself on remaining somewhat composed at all times. It was nearly impossible to do back at Watford, and I slipped up now and then, but I've always tried. And for the past two days, I've tried. I really have.

But now, I snap.

"You don't know that," I pinch her wrist, pulling it from me. She let's out a surprised gasp, turning to direct a wide-eyed stare my way. I clasp onto her tighter, slipping her ring off smoothly so she won't be able to spell me away before pushing her back against the nearest car.

"Baz!" Micah yells, clawing at my shoulder. I plant my hand against his chest, shoving him as far back as I can with my eyes still on Penelope.

"What aren't you telling me?" I growl, pressing my arm to her neck. Not hard enough to hurt, just so that she can't move. Or lie.

"I'm going to chalk this up to momentary insanity Basilton," she hisses, grabbing at my arm as she squirms.

Someone comes up behind me, and when I turn to snarl at him, he jumps back (the fangs tend to terrify some, if not most, people). Still, he soldiers on, drawing himself up to his full five-foot-ten inches. "Is there a problem miss?"

I yank out my wand with my free hand and tap it to my arm, feeling the magic surge from me to Penelope's hand. " ** _There's Nothing To See Here!"_** I shout, and he immediately looks around, confused.

"Penny," Micah roars, his head whipping back and forth frantically as he tries to find us, hidden away by my magic.

"Such a waste," Penelope scoffs, pushing hard at me.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly in the mood for conversation." I scowl. "What aren't you and Simon telling me? Why is he doing this?"

"Ask him!"

"I've _tried_!" I cry, and my eyes water irritatingly. Her lips twitch angrily, and she wants to fight back, I can tell. But as soon as the first tear slips out, she softens, groaning reluctantly. "What don't I know?"

" ** _Once I Was Blind, But Now I See!"_** Micah's magic is like ice, a gusty blast of the air conditioner on a hot afternoon. Penelope shivers, her gaze darting past my shoulder.

"Micah," she says frantically, "no!"

" ** _Strike A Match!_** " I know that spell particularly well, mastered it as a child before I realized I didn't need it. A ball of fire hovers over Micah's palm, and his face is twisted in ferocious concentration.

"Put that out," she screams, eyes flicking nervously between Micah's hand and my face. He hooks his free hand into my shoulder, but I don't budge. There are beads of sweat doting my forehead, and I can feel the heat on the side of my face.

"Let. Her. Go," he barks. I didn't understand the two of them together before (he's much too…boring for someone like Penelope Bunce) but now I get it. It's more than just intelligence that binds them, more than just curiosity. It's the passion for what matters, the ability to do what needs to be done when it's for someone you love.

I find myself hoping that he won't call my bluff. That an ember will catch and I'll go up like flypaper, and I won't have to _feel_ this way. So…hopeless. (What's it say about me that I can't last ten minutes without Simon?)

"Just listen to him, Baz, please," Penelope says desperately, "this isn't worth it."

"Either you tell me what's happening, or you might as well tell him to put me out of my misery."

Micah grits his teeth, preparing himself to do something he'll regret. Penelope stiffens, shaking her head fast enough to whip her hair into my face. "His magic!" She shouts, and she's not pushing my arm off anymore. If anything, she's holding me. I lean back, confused, and the heat is almost unbearable. "Micah, stop!" She's firm and unwavering, the same ice from Micah's magic in her voice. "Basilton may be the biggest prat in the universe, but I _won't_ forgive you if you kill him."

" ** _Out Like A Light!_** " He heaves out a sigh of relief as the flame disappears, slumping forward. "I lived up to my end of the bargain."

I pull back from Penelope, still trying to understand. Simon's _magic_? It's been years since those two words went together.

"My ring, Basilton. Now." I toss it to her silently, tensing for whatever she's got planned. "Excellent." She slips it back on, glaring at me. And then she sucker punches me, shaking out her hand as I double over, coughing. "All right?" She asks, bending so that she can meet my eyes.

"Sure," I croak, taking a few deep breaths before I can straighten with a wince. "Who taught you how to throw a punch like that? It couldn't have been your father, unless he read it in some book."

"Once my best friend started dating a vampire, I figured it was time to become acquainted with less magical methods of self-defense." She makes a fist with some effort. "I think I broke my bloody thumb."

Paying no mind to the fact that she may have ruptured my spleen at the same time as she damaged her hand, I take my wand and whisper, " ** _Good as New!_** " She hisses, (she's never been a fan of my particular brand of magic), but wriggles her fingers with no issue.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," I wheeze. "Now clarify, please."

She's trembling, out of anger, because of my magic, I don't know. "He got his magic back. It…manifested for the first time here, in New York, the other day. But I think he might have felt it back in California."

"What did it feel like?"

Her eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"His magic," I say urgently, "could you feel it?"

"Sure." She adopts the look that I've come to associate with her. Inquisitive, determined, clinical. "Wet," she decides, "more like humid. Weightless and thick, and constantly moving. He's not a bomb anymore, it's deeper. Just as powerful but in a different sort of way."

I frown, my mind moving past her explanation. "The ocean. That's why it tried to pull him in. It was drawn to him." I think of all the nights I dreamt of the beach (the tosser was leaking magic in his sleep), the feeling of waves that day I saw him on the balcony, the salty taste in my month when I walked into the performance hall. "That was him, the instruments?"

"Yeah," she confirms. "It's how he showed me his magic. And the day he said that he had to go."

That's the one part I can't comprehend. "He loves his magic. And he won't have it in England. Why would he give it up?"

"Because there's something Simon loves more than his magic," she rolls her eyes when it's obvious I don't understand, "you, you git. Think about it. From the second you two got together, it put you in more danger than you'd ever been in. The Insidious Humdrum used you against him, everything that happened with The Mage. He'd rather lose both you and his magic if it meant that you were safe."

"I can take care of myself," I growl (even though the last five minutes have proven otherwise). "And you should have told me before that idiot spent seven hundred dollars on a plane ticket."

"It wasn't my place," she protests, "and when he asks why I couldn't keep my big mouth shut, I'll tell him that his charming boyfriend manhandled it out of me."

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "Really. I'd stay and apologize more, but-"

"Get out of here already," she waves me away, "Micah will kick your arse later."

"Deal," I say magnanimously, already backing away from them.

"I don't have my passport," I hiss a few minutes later. I wish in movies they would show how difficult it is to actually get through security to the gates. Drumming my fingers on the counter, I scowl as the boarding agent clacks along the keyboard. He glances up at me, clucking disapprovingly.

"And as I told you, Mr. Patch-"

"Pitch-" I correct him through clenched teeth.

"Apologies, Mr. Pitch." He rolls his eyes. "You, being an international citizen, need your passport to be able to buy a ticket and go through to the gates."

"But I'm not even trying to go anywhere," I exclaim, checking my watch. Forty-five minutes until Simon's flight. "All I need is to talk to my boyfriend, and then I'll happily leave."

"Boyfriend?" He looks up with renewed interest, lowering his glasses with a smile. "You two aren't traveling together?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Well, I can't let you go waltzing around the airport just to chat with your boyfriend, but I'm sure I can be convinced after a drink or two."

Oh, for crying out loud. "This is a fucking waste of time."

"Language, sailor," he simpers. I snatch back my ID, tucking it into my wallet and pulling out my wand for the umpteenth time today.

"I was going to try and do this the reasonable way, but this is absolutely ridiculous." His face screws with bemusement. "Sorry." I shrug, walking away from him and over to the security line.

"Sir," he calls after me, "sir, you don't have a boarding pass!" His screams are attracting the attention of a few nearby security guards, but I stride forward, ignoring them as they begin to whisper.

I don't stop until I'm about to pass through security, a hand falling onto my shoulder. "You can't go through without a boarding pass."

I channel every ounce of my magic, Simon's face in my mind and his name imprinted on my heart. I think of his expression when he left, the feel of his arms around me, his laugh. And I feel it, buzzing through me, flames licking at my feet, sparks whooshing past my ears. " ** _Take Your Time!"_** It spreads like a forest fire, touching everyone that I see and then past those I can't. It pulses through me, and it's stronger than any spell I've casted in the past two years. It feels like the entire world slows, that time stops and limbs float in the air and all their stolen energy finds its way to me. It's like I've just fed, filled to the brim. I'm humming with it, each of my cells burning at the edges.

And suddenly I get what it's like to be Simon fucking Snow.

I don't know how long the spell will last, and it's hard to stay serious when the universe is moving in slow motion, so I start running. I jump over suitcases and glide around strollers and run around entire airport searching for him. I take the gates in alphabetical and numerical order, peek into the planes, watch as people sit like statues, their movements small and sluggish.

And even though I sprint like I never have before, it starts to feel as if this was an incredible waste of magic and effort. Because Simon's always been the most infuriatingly trying person I know, so of course it would be impossible to find him.

My phone chirps in my pocket, and I know it's probably Penelope. This spell never last as long on the magickal, but it's still annoying as hell. And after what happened earlier, I'll be on the receiving end of an earful _and_ an arse whooping.

Marvelous.

I reach for it, scrubbing a hand over my face as I notice as everything picks up speed, just slightly. Enough to know that I've just about run out of time. "I suppose this is your doing then?" I spin, still trying to catch my breath.

Bunce can wait. "What makes you say that?"

"Feels like when I burnt my hand trying to curl your hair," Simon won't look at me. It's okay though. I don't think I can look at him either. "Basilton Pitch, the patron saint of sweeping gestures." He says.

"Look, Simon-"

"Baz, um-"

We pause, and he cracks the first real smile I've seen on him the past few days. "You go. You were always better at the whole talking thing than me."

"You don't have to leave," I say, and the smile disappears. "And I'm not letting you."

"That's why you did all of this? So that I'll have to say no again?" He shrugs helplessly. "I can't stay here." He frowns, stepping out of the way of a captain moving at a snail's pace.

"Is it because of your magic?" I ask, and he gulps, mouth falling open with surprise.

"When did-how did you-?"

"Bunce," I explain, "I sort of forced it our of her."

He narrows his eyes at me. "How?"

"Does it really matter?" I snap, immediately on the defensive. He doesn't get to treat me as if I'm the bad guy when he was willing to ruin us over a lie. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?" He shrugs again, and it sets me on edge. "And don't you dare spout any of that nonsense about trying to _protect_ me."

"It's not that simple." He steps forward, his suitcase forgotten. "Everything was just wrong when I had magic. Between us and with the World of Mages." I start to protest, but he stops me with a hand to my elbow. "You really think that mixing me and magic here would end any better?"

"That doesn't explain you keeping something this big from me, or deciding that I couldn't come back with you."

"You're the one who acted as if this was some big break-up," he says, "I figured once I got back and this was all over, we could talk about it like adults."

"Adults?" I sneer. "You're running away."

His jaw sets stubbornly. "Am not."

"Sure you are," I say just as doggedly, tilting my chin up. I glare down my nose at him, daring him to argue. "But, here's the thing, Snow. I'm faster than you. Always have been, always will be. So you can run as far and as long as you want, but I'll always be there to drag your idiotic arse back."

He growls, lifting a finger to make a point, but then drops it, looking confused. "Is this a fight? Because we both sound like we're in a fight, and I want to win like we're in a fight, but this doesn't feel like a fight?"

"I didn't come here for that," I hitch up an eyebrow, "I came to say that I can take care of myself-"

"Numpties," he mutters.

"Aleister, can you keep quiet for a fucking second?" I huff. "I can take care of myself," I repeat again, louder, "I don't need you protecting me from anyone, especially not yourself. So if you go, it's for you and only you."

"But Baz," there's a whine in his voice, and it almost pulls a smile from me.

"No buts," I interrupt, "I love you, and if you feel as if this is what you have to do, well then be my guest. But it's misguided, and selfish, and I don't agree with it."

I turn to go, stilling when I hear a murmured, "I'm scared." I spin around, watching as he grabs at his tail and winds it around his wrist. "I don't think I can do this. I barely could handle being what everyone expected of me, The Chosen One, Simon the savior, and I'm out of practice. What I'm even worse than before?"

"Not possible," I reply automatically, and a rumble goes down his throat. I'm not sure if it's a growl or a laugh (knowing the idiot, it's both). "If you're looking for a teacher, there's no better than Bunce and I. But if you're looking for an escape route, don't let me keep you."

This time, when I go, he doesn't try to stop me. I don't think I believed he would. " ** _Speed Of Light!"_** I close my eyes, see myself sinking in the waves, caught in the eye of a hurricane. (Hurricane Simon. Fitting.) And then the universe is right again. The noise is almost too much, the sounds of the airport all rushing at me as time races by to correct for my meddling.

I swallow hard against the nausea that comes with it, waiting for it to pass before walking out. The boarding agent is right where I left him, looking incredibly confused as I stroll past.

"Next time you and Simon fight, can you please leave the rest of the world out of it?" Penelope asks when I reach them. Micah's seconds away from vomiting, an interesting shade of green tinting his cheeks. "You can't just toy with time."

"I'll add that to my list of transgressions." I sag forward, exhausted. (It's the least of what I deserve. Penelope's right, messing with time can lead to disastrous repercussions. I've gotten off lucky with a bit of fatigue.) "Can we go please?"

"Is there room for a fourth?" Even with sleep threatening to overtake me, my eyes snap up as I whisk around, my chest warming at Simon's sheepish expression.

Penelope, ignoring her irritation with me, breaks out into a beam, skipping forward to throw her arms around him. "Of course." He smiles at me from over her shoulder, and I can't hold back my own. "Oh, and just because you didn't actually get on the plane doesn't mean you don't still owe me seven hundred dollars." She ushers him over to the car. "Let's discuss payment plans."

He doesn't stop smiling the entire ride home, (bloody prat). I don't either (never said I wasn't one as well).


	12. Chapter 12

**_PENELOPE_**

I've been trying to figure it out, how Simon got his magic back. He's always been able to do the impossible, but _just_ so.

"Simon. Focus."

I've figured it out partly. It drove Micah mad, me using him as a soundboard for my theories. California has the most magicians in the country, the most magic for Simon to tap into. He would have felt it in New York eventually, he was already starting to I think, but it was easier to pull from it in California. I haven't heard of any dead spots, so I guess it's different from before. I _know_ it's different.

But how?

"I am," he grits out through his teeth, his magic thick in the air. "I just can't get it."

"You've used trickier spells since getting your magic back," I protest. Still, he looks seconds from toppling over, so I take pity on him. " ** _Take It Easy!"_** His entire body unfurls, and he slumps to the ground.

"Don't," he accepts the water I hand him, sucking it down with three quick gulps.

"Don't?"

"Don't tell me I need to push myself or whatever." I settle down beside him, twirling my ring around my finger. "It's not like I'm not _trying_."

"I never said you weren't." It was on the tip of my tongue, but he would give up if I did. "It must be difficult, all of this."

He nods his head furiously, his fingers digging into his knees. I blink against the sting in my eyes and the faint tinge of seaweed on my tongue. I suppose his first lesson of controlling the connection between his emotions and his magic didn't take. He's still a leaky faucet, the slightest bit of agitation sending magic seeping from his skin.

"It _is_ ," he cries, and I take his hand, squeezing.

"Simon, relax." I instruct, "breathe." He inhales sharply, and his magic pulls back, just enough to stop my stomach from rolling. "Where's your magic?"

"Everywhere," he says after a moment. "It's everywhere."

"Think of the deepest place you can, and store it all there."

Blinking, he hassles his hair. "Sort of like your well."

I smile encouragingly, because it's the first thing he's said that hasn't been marred in confusion or frustration. "The well works for me, and it might work for you, but it might not. You just need to find something that helps you manage it."

His eyes slip shut as his face twists with concentration. "My wardrobe back at Watford," he decides, panting slightly. "It all fits in there, and I can close the door, keep it contained." His looks over at me, gnawing on his bottom lip. "But what happens when I open it up? It'll come out, all at once."

I pick up his wand, tracing my finger along the edges. "Maybe you can talk to Baz? See if he has any ideas?"

Simon hardens, shoving away the lingering affects of my spell. "He's busy. Uni starts after the weekend for him and he's still trying to get to know Stephanie and the rest of his class. I don't want to bother him."

I resist the impulse to groan, incredibly annoyed with both boys.

The pair of them wouldn't stop grinning at one another the entire ride to Micah's. I thought it would be the end of all this nonsense between them, all the secrets and unnecessary angst. They sat curled together on the couch, nauseating Micah and I.

"It would've been miserable," Simon smiled into Baz's chest. "Who would I have cuddled with?"

"Life-sized body pillow?" Baz guessed, chuckling when Simon's tail batted at his knee. "You're a bloody idiot, you know that?"

"And you're a posh git."

"Why don't you two just go and get a room already?" I snipped, rolling my eyes at Micah. He tried to smile, but it came across as more of a grimace. I wasn't exactly being gentle with his bloody fist, which had doled out a pretty impressive beating on Baz before we came inside.

Neither Baz, nor Simon seemed particularly perturbed by the bruise blooming on Baz's cheek or the scrape on his forehead.

"You offering up your own, Bunce?" Baz lifted an eyebrow, only to wince a second later. "Because we'll gladly except it."

"What he said," Simon echoed, nuzzling into his neck.

They were just disgusting enough that I expected it to last. Imagine my surprise when they brushed past each other in the kitchen the next day, Simon hopelessly lost and Baz as closed off as I'd ever seen him.

That was last week, and nothing's changed.

"You think maybe you two fighting is one of the reasons this is so difficult for you?"

"What - why would you say that?" He sputtered.

"Simon." I say exasperatedly. "Can we please skip to the end of this conversation where you admit that I'm right and I don't have to spend my precious time convincing you that I know you two better than you know yourself?"

"Precious time?" He raises an eyebrow. He's really been with Baz for much too long. "What would you be doing if you weren't with me? Watching a Ken Burns' documentary on Netflix?"

"They're incredibly informative," I protest defensively, "and I don't have to explain my choices to you." He shrugs. I try not to sound long-suffering as I sigh. "He'd be willing to help if you'd just ask."

"He doesn't want to speak to me," Simon says, ducking his head dejectedly. "I've got to respect that, right?"

"Does he have the right to be a bit miffed with you? Yes, completely. Will he actually stay mad at you if you do that thing you do? Probably not."

"That thing?" He asks, cocking his head to the side.

"Come off it, Simon. You really can't be that oblivious." When he continues to stares at me, wearing the trademark Simon look of befuddlement, I groan. "You really _are_ that oblivious. So, when you smile all bashfully and then look up at Baz with those enormous loved-filled eyes that turn our residential vampire into a puddle, that's because you're actually _in love_?"

"It's not like I have some ulterior motive," he sniffs.

"Maybe if you had one, just in this instance, it would work in your favor."

"Leave it alone, Penny. Baz and I will talk when we're ready to."

"Or," I offer, "the both of you will continue to be the most stubborn men in the history of this dimension and many others."

He bites down on his tongue. "Yeah, that too I guess."

Pushing up from the floor, I stick out my hand. "Come on then, lazy bum. Breaks over."

"But Penny," he whines, "I'm _tired_."

"Yes, well I'd rather you be tired and somewhat proficient at using your magic than just tired. Up you go," he clasps my forearm and pulls himself up. "Light spell, now."

He shakes out his arms, straightening his back and snatching his wand from me. " ** _See The Light!_** " A spark flies out from the end of his wand, sputtering piteously before dying out.

"This is a first year spell, Simon. You fixed time. You brought pieces of lacquered wood to life. If you can do all of that, you can definitely do _this_."

He growls down at his wand as if it has personally offended him. "I'm done for the day."

"Simon-"

"Go do something else, Penny. Ken Burns must be calling to you by now." He manages a small smile before walking into the bathroom. I consider following after him, but he won't want me to see him cry.

Hopefully it'll occur to him that he was able to do those spells, strong enough that even I struggle with them, because of something bigger than his power. Baz had been all around us in the performance hall, in the red velvet curtains and the first mournful note of the song. He was there in the airport, professing his tragic, unwavering love for Simon when he sped up time.

To this day, Simon's every breath revolves around Basilton Grimm-Pitch, and he's still too dense to realize it.

I'll give him a few minutes, and then we'll go and prepare for the first day of classes. There's only a week left of break, and I need Simon's attention split between his magic _and_ our third year at uni. We still need to register for courses and buy supplies. We won't be able to get any of that done if Simon's still sulking.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

"You excited for tomorrow?" I ask nervously, wringing the hem of my shirt in my hands. Baz glances over at me from over his laptop, his fingers still moving furiously over the keyboard.

"I'm very rarely nervous," he smirks, but it disappears at quickly as it appears. "Stephanie promised to meet me tomorrow morning, we're going to get breakfast and then she's taking me to my first class of the day, MAP Orchestra."

"Sounds hard," I crawl over to him, swiping his laptop closed and taking its place on his lap. "You should definitely be well-rested for that, right?"

"Perhaps," he nods, nudging me away gently. "Oh, and the furniture is arriving at the apartment tomorrow afternoon, so we can move in then."

"Do you still want to?" I blurt out the question, immediately flushing. "I mean, I stayed. You got me to stay and I couldn't be happier. But if you want me to crash here for a bit while you go to the apartment, I could do that…too, I guess," I rub my hand along the back of my head. "I - I could - there are hotels maybe…"

Baz raises an eyebrow, taking his teacup and running his finger over the edge. "What are you prattling on about, Snow?" He asks, sounding bored. "I'm paying obscene amounts of money for that flat. We're both going to be living there, preferably together."

"But you're so _angry_ with me," I flop onto my stomach, still amazed at how light it feels without my wings. I didn't magic them away, that would have felt wrong, but now not only are they hidden unless I want people to see them, but they're virtually weightless as well.

I kept the tail as is. It's probably the coolest thing about me.

"I'm annoyed, yes. I did have some work to do before you decided to shut my laptop, but I'm sure I'll be able to forgive you a year or two from now."

" _Baz_."

He studies me carefully, searching for how long it'll take for me to drop the issue. His sneer must mean he doesn't like the answer. "This isn't some big problem, Simon."

"But it is," I argue, "and it'll keep being one unless you yell at me."

"Sorry?"

"You heard me, Baz."

"You want me to _yell_ at you?"

"Yeah. Yell at me, call me an idiot, make me cry. I deserve it." I stiffen, readying myself. "You can start with my hair. It looks absolutely ridiculous, it always has, kind of."

Baz bites down on his bottom lip, fangs gleaming. "Okay then," he says slowly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He strokes his chin thoughtfully, and the longer he waits, the more anxious I feel.

He must have years and years of ammunition to use against me. _Merlin_ , I talk in my sleep, and Lord only knows what I've said. And I drool. And I whistle as I pee, but he's always said he finds that adorable.

I slip my eyes shut so he won't see that they've already begun to water. And then let out a surprised squeak when he kisses me.

"I think you've forgotten the meaning of yell."

He cradles my face, grinning so wide it makes my heart flutter. "I love you, you unbelievable fool."

"That's slightly better, but you need practice."

"I was angry that you thought we would be better apart, especially when it's so distressingly clear that I wouldn't last a second without you. But you - you're so - _Morgana_ , you're so delightfully daft that it's impossible to be furious with you for more than a few moments."

"You sound mad, you realize that right?" I strain against his hands, torn between the urge to kiss him and the part of my brain yelling at me to escape before laughing, smiling Baz disappears. "You love me because I'm an idiot?"

"Because, in spite, and maybe even more because of," he muses, "I love you. And we're going to go to university, and live in our apartment, and be together. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Absolutely not." He backs away and I growl with frustration. "You missed yell and went straight to _lecture_."

"And on the topic of school," he pecks a quick kiss to my forehead before darting away and grabbing at his laptop. "I really do need to focus up for tomorrow. You can take the couch tonight. I'm much too wired and too hungry to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Or, you could drink from me and then we could cuddle."

"And then I'll spend my first day at a new school feeling alternately worried and guilty about my ailing boyfriend. Besides, New York has far too many squirrels anyway."

"Fine," I pout. "And if you're gone by the time I wake up tomorrow, have a good day, all right?"

"Thanks, love."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

I hear the scream the second I step into the room. It sets me on edge, makes every one of my muscles tense as I search for the source.

And then I roll my eyes, relaxing as I go to kiss an open-mouthed Simon.

"What have - why did - are you - what have you done?" He shouts, pushing me back.

Pulling off my jacket, I go to hang it up in the coat closet.

"I thought it was time for a change."

"There's been nothing _but_ change for the last two months, you arse," he cries, pacing along the floor. (I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing when he nearly trips over his tail.) "You had no right to do…that," he cries, gesturing to my head distraughtly.

"It's my hair, Simon."

"Nope," he shakes his head, "I own at least seventy-five percent stock in that hair."

"I wasn't aware that that was how personal grooming worked."

His wings flutter as a low growl escapes through his lips. "I'm the one who has to look at you!"

"I just wanted to look professional for my first class." I run my hands over my scalp, still slightly confused when my hair stops right before it reaches my ears.

"Penny!" Simon yells, face red with the strength of his screams. "Penny!"

"Stop hollering," Penny jogs in (Simon's bellows have the same affect on her that they had on me). "I'm right here…oh." She stares at me, her eyes widening as she takes me in. "Are you dying, Basil?" She asks, aghast.

"Immortal, Bunce," I settle down on the couch, "please."

"Then why exactly did you sheer off your entire head?"

"It's not my entire head," I correct her. I saw it when I was done, the barber left a good deal of it on. It just doesn't fall like a mop around my face anymore. "And I happen to think it looks pretty good."

"That's not the point," Simon bounces down beside me. "That's it, no sex until this terrible mistake has been rectified."

"Withholding sex?" I stroke my chin thoughtfully. "I've never cut my hair before, so this will be an interesting experiment in patience. It could take weeks, maybe months. Possibly years. But we went over two years without making love, I'm sure I can manage another wait. Can you?"

He glares at me, leg shaking with anxious energy. "You think I can't do it."

"No, I think the opposite. I think you won't be able to go very long without doing _it."_

Another furious growl. (In the back of my mind, I wonder if he believes this to be intimidating, or if he's trying to be purposefully adorable.) "I hate you."

"No you don't," I take the remote and begin flipping through the channels.

"Well, I hate your stupid haircut," he snaps, throwing himself into my lap and tucking his head in the spot between my neck and chest.

"Maybe for now. You'll like it soon enough."

"Doubtful."

The haircut had been Stephanie's idea. "What if it get's in your face during a concerto grosso?" She pointed out.

"That's what hair gel is for, Steph," I slowed my pace so she wouldn't have to jog to keep up with me. "Some how I've managed to come this far without ever losing my vision."

"Well there's a first time for everything," she waved me into a local café. "I've never had a British violinist friend who also happens to be allergic to the sun, and yet, here we are."

"I'm not allergic to the sun," I brushed past her and over to the counter. "Two Pumpkin Mocha Breves, please."

"Make that one of those and one medium black coffee." She eyed me with a playful smile darting across her lips (in the small amount of time I've known her, I've come to associate that look with mischief. She and Simon would get on wonderfully.) "Some of us aren't twelve year old girls. We can handle the strong stuff."

"I was going to offer to pay," I tucked my wallet back into my pocket, "but after that little quip, I'll leave the bill to you."

"Well, I am the man in this relationship, it's only right."

Snorting, I walked over to the counter and waited for the drinks, turning to her when she followed. "So you're not allergic to the sun?"

"The last time I checked, no."

"Are you albino?" She asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm ignoring you now."

She was silent for a few wonderful moments. I was almost able to enjoy my drink in peace. (Peace, a luxury afforded to everyone else on the planet besides one T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch.) "I guess you don't need to answer. Your lack of vitamin D, while concerning, is not the topic at hand. Your hair."

"My hair."

She offered me a piece of her muffin. I waved it away (it was still too early to eat in front of her). "I would sell my playing hands to the devil to get my hair to look as awesome as yours, but why not see what would happen if you cut it."

"Because I've never been particularly interested to."

The corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile. "And now?"

"Now I'd be willing to do just about anything to be rid of you."

"Excellent," she squealed, "because I already made an appointment."

I pulled my lips into my mouth before the could curl into a sneer. "Stephanie!"

"Come on, it'll only take a half an hour, tops. And if you hate it, well, I don't know, I'll chop off all my hair too."

"That's not really saying anything," I said before taking a sip of my coffee. She's got the whitest blonde hair I've ever seen, sitting like curtain around her chin in a short bob. It wouldn't be that drastic a change.

"Then I'll do something else," she offered, "I'll shave off my eyebrows. I'll let you draw a moustache on me with permanent marker. Ooh," she squeaked, green eyes alit with excitement, "whenever I introduce myself, I'll add that I absorbed my twin in the womb, and that's the only reason why I'm so good with music."

"All unnecessary options, I assure you."

"Well, I'm not taking no for an answer." She knocked over my cup, sending the scalding liquid dripping to the floor.

"Steph!"

"Let's go before they realize it was me and try to put us to work." She laughed, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and scurrying out the door. I grabbed for my own things, eyeing the counter nervously. " ** _Clean As A Whistle."_** The spill mopped itself up, and I jerked my chin over to the garbage, watching the entire mess land over half eaten croissants and waded napkins.

I rarely do anything on impulse (other than near self-immolation) but when Steph tugged me to the front of the barber, I couldn't think of a single reason not to go through with it. After all, it would always grow back in if I hated it.

"Not too much," I warned, allowing the barber to drape a styling cape over me. Steph bounced beside me, clapping her hands together as the first snip of hair fell onto my knee. "Promise."

"I swear?" (I had to remember not to excite her too often. Her voice became as shrill as the day we met, and just as prone to the perpetual question mark.)

That was the last time I would ever trust a word out of Stephanie Kane's mouth.

"How were your classes?" Penelope asks, because Simon won't. He won't look up from my knee, his scowl deepening by the second. "Did they consider you a violin virtuoso?"

"They were all right," I say vaguely. I doubt either one of them wants to hear that while my teachers were impressed with me considering the fact that I never studied at a conservatory, I was still woefully underprepared for what my classes would entail. "Although I'm not exactly a fan of chorus."

"Why?" Simon glances up, seeming to forget his irritation with me. "You have the prettiest voice."

"I'm on the edge of tone deaf."

"Hardly, that's more Penny than anyone else." Penelope lunges over to us, taking a pillow and slamming it against Simon's head.

"I may not be Adele, but I can carry a tune." (I have to cover my snort with a cough for fear of retribution).

"That's-"

"Completely true," I say appeasingly, covering Simon's mouth with my hand. "The voice of an angel, Bunce. Really."

She harrumphs, properly placated. "Thank you. I'm sure you'll be top of class in no time."

I hike an eyebrow up, smirking at her from over Simon's curls. "There was never a doubt in my mind. I've never really had much competition on that front."

"I was trying to be nice, and distract you from how absolutely idiotic you look without your stupid, stringy hair." Stealing the remote from my grasp, she changes the channel angrily.

"My hair was neither stupid nor stringy." She turns to protest, and I snatch the roommate back, switching off the television and pushing at Simon. "Anyway, I don't specifically remember inquiring after either of your opinions on my new look. I do, however, remember enlisting the both of you to help unpack our new flat."

"Do we have to?" Simon's nose crinkles with distaste. "Because you did promise to do all the heavy lifting as punishment."

"And I will," I concede, "I just need you to stand there and look cute."

He nods gamely, and Penelope wraps an arm around Simon's waist, tugging him towards the door. He glances back at me from over his shoulder, wearing the first grin of the afternoon. "You're in luck, I'm exceptionally good at that."

"Wouldn't have asked if you weren't."

* * *

 ** _._**

 ** _.._**

 ** _..._**

 ** _Author's note: Okay, so first off, I'd just like to thank everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, followed or just like, loved this stupidly awesome characters of Rainbow Rowell as much as I do. This is a lot of fun to write, and I'm glad that you guys enjoy it. With that being said, I feel like this is also a good halfway mark, so I've still got some more story to tell with these crazy bunch of young adults (children) living their lives. Anyway, please enjoy!_**


	13. Chapter 13

**_SIMON_**

"You've been bouncing off the fucking walls for the past hour," Baz watches me from the bed, dragging a towel through his hair, or _lack_ thereof. "If you're this excited to get started, why don't you just go over already?"

"Because Penelope said that she won't be coming over until at least nine since our first class of the day isn't until ten-thirty," I sigh heavily, kicking the comforter to the floor and digging my nose into his stomach.

I run hot again, ever since getting my magic back. I don't know how we didn't realize it from the moment I stepped out of that airplane. I'm a furnace; warm enough now that even Baz walks up sweaty and moaning about the heat. "I don't know why you're so eager to go."

"We're taking a Performing Comedy class," I stress, lurching forward so that each of my legs sit on either side of his waist. I press my hands to his chest and jump, giggling as we bounce. "I get to show how funny I am to the rest of the world. And then we're taking a Twentysomething class."

"A class on millennials, how quaint." He murmurs, clasping my wrists and twisting so I'm pinned down underneath him.

"Sounds more interesting than Introduction to Music Production," I shoot back.

"I'm sorry, I'm really trying to take you seriously but you look absolutely _preposterous_."

"So you can shave your head but I can't dye mine?" I hadn't been able to sleep the night before, too anxious for the first day, and it seemed like a good decision at the time. The guy at the convenience store down the street from the new apartment had thought so as well.

Baz, not so much. The git.

"I never said that," he shakes his head. I miss being able to reach up and tuck a fallen strand of black hair behind his ear. "But did it have to be _blue?_ "

"Robin's egg," I correct him, "and yes. It was the only acceptable choice."

"And what was wrong with blonde? I happened to like it a great deal."

"I liked your hair, but now look at the pair of us."

He kisses just between my eyebrows. "I, at least, am still the least bit presentable."

"Well, I've never been presentable, so there isn't much of a problem there." He falls away from me, landing on his back and smiling over at me.

"God help me, it may make you even prettier, as if that's fair." He says, "I never thought it possible." Taking my hand, he eyes my dyed fingertips with a critical frown. "Although you should have asked me for my help. It wouldn't have made such a mess."

"But then it wouldn't have been a surprise," I pout.

Humming, he traces a finger along the lines in my palm. "So, only two classes?"

"No, those are just the classes I'm taking with Penny. The other ones are quite dull. American Constitution and Quantum Mechanics." He sits up at that one, frowning.

"Simon, what _is_ your major?"

I shrug. "I haven't decided."

"After almost three years, you haven't _decided_?"

"Business is boring, chemistry and biology are terrible, and maths is equally as horrible. Physics is the only thing that wasn't a nightmare, and I'm _actually_ deceptively good at it."

My grin widens as he tries, and fails, to hide how impressed he is. "Bunce is going to throw a fit when she sees your hair."

"Why would she?" I ask, ruffling my hands through my hair. "It wasn't her head."

"No, Basilton is right." We both dart up at the sound of the words, startled as we meet Penny's glare. She points at her own hair, now cherry red and curled.

"You're early."

We both ignore him, equally irritated glares clashing into one another as I tug at my hair. "We _clash_." I wail, my voice heavy with anguish.

"Well it's not like you exactly asked my permission before you did _that_."

Baz rubs at his eyes wearily. "I really must take that key back."

We both whip around to scowl at him. "You're the one who started all of this." I glare at his offending hairstyle, matted against his forehead now. I wish he would look less cute, then my anger would be righteous. But he's so selfish, he can't even look ugly even for one day. It's bloody annoying.

And, again, this is his entire fault. No matter how _great_ he looks after he's gelled it up and swept it to the side and managed to look like a lead in a boy band and a damned prince all at once.

"No! No more of this." She declares, pacing along the length of the floor. "No more making major decisions without consulting one another."

"Since when is hair a major decision?" Baz asks incredulously.

"Since _always_ ," I stare at him like he's an idiot. Because he is one. "That's only common sense, Baz."

"No more dyeing, or cutting, or permanently disfiguring oneself," she stares pointedly down at Baz's bare chest, to where his tattoo sits just as vibrant and wonderful as the day I first saw it. "Not unless we're all in agreement."

Baz gets out of bed, the sheet falls away from around his waist. Even better than Baz in jeans is Baz in a pair of my _sweatpants_. They're just big enough that they hang low on his hips, and I can lean over and mouth the pale strip of skin just over his hipbone if I want to.

Not now, of course. Penny and I are mad at him. Still, I can focus on more than one thing at a time. I'm _very_ multitalented.

"I'm done listening to the lot of you," he huffs, padding into the bathroom and then reappearing a few moments later with his toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. "If I had known what trouble this all would have caused, I would have left my hair alone."

"Your fangs are showing," she says, not without the slightest bit of venom coating her words.

"And so are your neuroses," he replies smoothly, his grin mischievous and incredibly minty.

"Relax, the both of you," I say, going over to the closet and throwing it open.

What goes well with blue? "Baz, can I wear one of your jumpers?"

"No," he calls from the bathroom.

"Thank you," I sing back, already rustling through his things. Some of it is still packed away, we have boxes lining the hallways and stacked in the corners, but he's got loads of clothes, enough that his things fill more than half the space already. And I know _just_ what I want to wear.

" _Aleister_ almighty, Simon. I haven't even had a chance to wear that yet," Baz grouses, coming up behind me and ripping the tag off the light purple sweater he'd gotten before we left London.

"But it looks better on _me_ ," I say sweetly, "you even said so yourself."

"No," he runs his hands through his hair, leaving it standing up in all directions, "I said that the color suited your eyes. I said nothing about you stealing it away from me."

"Borrowing," I dance away from him and over to Penny. She won't let him take it from me, especially with her current mood. "And if I start looking for something else to wear, we'll be late."

Penny folds her arms across her chest. With her hair like this and her glare aimed at Baz, it's almost like we're back at Watford, and she's telling me I'm about to cast a **_Cry Over Spilt Milk!_** spell on myself. "That's right, he will be."

"You two are incorrigible. Your classes don't start for a few hours at least. That's more than enough time to go and find something else to wear."

"I really don't think it is. Especially if I'm going to cook you two breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," he says to my back.

"You can save it for later. Oh," I add, whirling around as I remember something, "Penny had a brilliant idea the other day." I glance over at her expectantly, rolling my eyes when she looks back at me with a blank expression.

"Sorry. I just have so many during the day that it's hard to recall the specifics."

I brush past her and into the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter and swinging my legs as they follow. "Penny thought it would be easier for the both of us if I just gave blood once a week instead of you feeding on me. I'll eat cookie, drink some orange juice and I won't feel like shit, plus you could drink whenever you needed, regardless of if I'm around."

Baz considers his nails. "I've made a game out of thinking of all the different ways and languages I can say no to you. The list is rather extensive." He moves easily around the room, his lips settling into it's familiar sneer. " _Nyet, ne, ingen, nem, ei_ , and my favorite, _ningunha_."

I kick at his thigh as he passes. "Very fancy, but don't bother," I slip of the counter and over to the freezer, taking out a bag and tossing it to him. "I did all the research. I know how to draw it, I know how to store it, all you have to do is drink it." Cocking my head, I try not to look too smug. "And, look at that, I only needed one language to do so."

He gapes down at the bag, twisting it around and around in his hands. "This was your idea?" He finally asks Penelope with a grimace. She backs away, throwing her hands up defensively.

"I was just talking, I didn't actually think he would listen. I mean, it's _Simon_."

I frown at her before turning my attention to Baz. "I'm a very good listener, obviously."

"No, you're not, because I'm told you on multiple occasions that I don't want you to become my blood bag. And now you have quite literally _become_ my blood bag?"

"Or your donor?" I offer helpfully, taking out all the ingredients for cherry scones.

"You're going to get flour on my jumper." He hisses.

"I would never," I pop a cherry into my mouth, "now can you focus on the matter at hand. I don't really feel like arguing about this, _again_. Now at least you won't have to worry about me being sick once you're done drinking."

"You should make a business on feeding reluctant vampires," he mutters, setting the bag down. His eyes wander over to it every few seconds, and he's sucking on his fangs. Lost in thought and hungry, an interesting mix.

"Fine, drink it, or don't," I take out a mixing bowl and chuck it at him. He catches it easily and sets it down beside his hip. "But I'm sure it'll taste a lot better than the animals around here."

Penny helps herself to some milk. "It's true. You couldn't stop grimacing after that one time I saw you bite a squirrel."

"Thank you, Penny," I hand her a whisk, "wanna help?"

Baz covers his face and groans. "I'm going back to bed." He lingers for a moment, and then snatches at the blood, sneering at me. "One of these days, Simon Snow, you're going to be the death of me."

"But not today, right?"

"No," he answers reluctantly, "not today."

 ** _…_**

"Okay, let's go over this again." Baz pries his hand from mine two hours later, stepping to the side so that a boy with a backpack and a mohawk can walk past.

"I don't want to."

"And I don't care," he replies patiently, wiping at a smudge of flour on my cheek. "What do you do if you get lost?"

"I call you."

" _And_?"

"And Penny."

" _And_?"

"And if neither of you reply, I text Micah."

" _And_ report to the designated safety zones."

I can't help but roll my eyes at this one. We've had this conversation three times during the walk over, and each time he adds something new. " _Crowley_ Baz, I'm not a child."

"No one ever said you were. Now have a good day at school and look both ways before you cross the street." He kisses my forehead, darting away before I can swat at him.

"I'm a twenty-one year old _mage_. I think I'll be fine."

He leans forward, and I think he'll kiss me again, which would be well received I admit, but instead he tugs on my tail. I yelp, smacking at his hand. "You're tail is showing."

"No it's not," I say defiantly, "Penny taught me **_Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed!_** which totally hides it away every morning. You just remember where it is."

He chuckles, and I go to walk away from him. "Sorry, Snow. I'm sure you'll be fine. You can't blame me if I worry."

"Yes, I can," I protest, just to be difficult. I like that he worries, but sometimes I wished that I didn't always have to give him a reason to. "But thank you, for walking with me."

"I can make a habit of it. My schedule is pretty free on Wednesdays."

"I don't need an escort."

"More like a crossing guard?" He grins as I growl at him. "Maybe a baby sitter?"

"I've got to find my class," I push at his shoulder lightly, and he sways back, smiling. "I'll call you when I'm on my way home?"

"As long as you don't get lost," he says, a mocking lilt to his voice. "Okay, I'm going, I'm going."

It took Penny and me an embarrassingly long time to realize that we read our schedules wrong. The first week of uni, they messed everything up, having Monday classes on Wednesdays and Tuesday lectures on Thursdays. Which meant that instead of Twentysomething with Penny, I had Quantum Mechanics.

Which I was terribly _underprepared_ for.

"We'll meet up for lunch, yeah?" Penny promised before racing the four city blocks down to her class, to which she'd be arriving fifteen minutes late. "Text me when you're free."

At least I had Baz when she left, but for all my talk of being an adult, being without the both of them _terrified_ me.

I wander around for half an hour, frowning up at the buildings around me and getting more and more confused. I'm just considering heading to one of Baz's "designated safety zones", when someone coughs behind me.

"You lost?" I nearly trip over my tail with how fast I spin around, a pair of hands coming to rest on my shoulders and steady me.

"That obvious, eh?" I laugh, grinning at the girl in front of me. She cocks her head to the side, pitch-black hair falling into her face as recognition blooms in her eyes.

"Wait, you're Simon Snow, right?"

"Do I know you?" I ask, smile falling away as I try to place her.

"No," she smirks, and there's something _familiar_ about her. I just can't tell what. "But you do know my cousin." I wait for her to continue. "Baz Pitch?" A boy comes up behind her, settling an arm around her shoulders.

My eyes widen, and suddenly it makes sense. She's _exactly_ what Malcolm would look like, if he were a woman and forty years younger. "You're Baz's cousin?"

She laughs, pushing her hand out and wiggling her fingers expectantly when I don't immediately take it. "I'm Stacy, and this is Taylor."

"It's great to meet you both."

"Same, although the Simon Snow I've heard about was never this blue," she reaches up to tug on a curl. It springs back into place. "Very cool."

"Careful," Taylor smiles, wide enough that I can see all of his teeth. "She's got a thing for British dudes."

I blink, trying not blush, and failing. "Oh, um-"

"Ignore him," she jerks an elbow back into Taylor's stomach, hard enough to make him groan. "He's dating someone, asshole."

"Taken, huh?"

Stacy moves away from him, looping her arm through mine. "The good ones always are."

Taylor falls into step with us, bumping his arm into mine. "Too bad." I turn in time to see his smirk. "Where you off to, Simon Snow?"

"Well, I'm already hopelessly late for my physics class, so I figured the bookstore to buy some of my textbooks?"

Stacy smiles, it moves slowly across her face and it pulls a grin from me. "Isn't that a coincidence, that's exactly where we were going too."

"Give or take three blocks," Taylor laughs. They're a happy pair; it's easy enough to see after only minutes with them. "Stacy here just doesn't feel like failing another biology class."

"That's only because someone," she pokes him with her free hand, "won't let me cheat. We almost get caught one time freshman year, and suddenly dipshit over here turns all honor code on me."

Taylor grins down at her fondly. "She won't rest until I'm expelled."

"That's true," she giggles, "so how is dear old Basilton?"

Taylor crinkles his nose, jogging forward so he can walk backwards. People part for him, eyeing him as if he's insane. Considering the fact that he's strolling around New York nearly blind, he might be. "Basilton? Weird name."

"Weird family," Stacy giggles again, "probably why I haven't seen any of them in the past five years." He jumps neatly over a pile of garbage, and I gape at him, wondering how he knew it was coming. "Eyes in the back of his head spell," Stacy explains.

"You're magickal?" My surprise makes them both laugh again. I'm starting to think they don't know any other way to communicate.

"Yeah, I guess we are. Anyway, my cousin?"

"He's good," I don't know what more to say. Baz isn't exactly forthcoming about his family, but I've learned enough over the past couple of years. It's _weird_ that I've never heard of her. And I don't know how much he would want me telling her because of it. "And I like the name Basilton."

"Sounds like laundry detergent," Taylor responds, skipping around a pack of dog more smoothly than I could walking forward. "Or a cure for erectile dysfunction."

"You don't know the half of it," Stacy yanks at the charm around her neck. "Simon?"

I blink at her owlishly, my mouth opening as I search for something to say, only to snap shut again. "Oops, I think we're scaring him off, Tay."

"Damn it Stace, if you're personality didn't suck so bad, we'd actually have more than two friends each."

"No," I say hurriedly, "you guys are cool. Just…a little hard to swallow I suppose?"

"We've gotten that," she nods, pulling me towards a store lined with books. "Plenty of times."

"It really can't be helped," Taylor finishes for her. He holds the door for us, jerking his chin when I linger in front of him, not wanting to be rude. "You're wasting air conditioning."

"Right," I stumble forward, "sorry."

Stacy's arms are already filled with books by the time Taylor and I find her. "Took you long enough," she huffs irritably, "credit card, please."

"Come on," he groans, fishing for his wallet grudgingly, "those are gonna cost a fortune."

"Less yapping, more swiping," she demands, "Simon Snow's books too."

" _No_ ," I shake my head, blue curls flopping into my eyes, "that's really not necessary."

"I lost a bet last month," he explains, "I've got to do whatever she says, or streak naked around the city. And the last time I did that, they threatened to expel me, so this seems like the easier option." He shrugs good-naturedly, chuckling at the way I blink at him. "Simon Snow, flustered. Who knew?"

 _Most people_ , but I keep that too myself. They almost take as much joy in laughing at me as Baz and Penelope. It's _annoying_.

"Um, really-it's fine. I can pay for my own books."

Stacy clucks her tongue, lifting an eyebrow challengingly at me. "I won't hear of it, Simon Snow."

"You _can_ just call me Simon, you know that right?"

She pouts. "Where's the fun in that…Simon Snow?"

It's better than the alternative, I suppose. I would go mad if she started calling me Snow. I'd only just gotten to Baz to call me Simon sixty percent of the time, and we'd been dating for ages.

"Come on, I'll buy the books and you can buy us some coffee. We practically live on the stuff," Taylor stares at me curiously, "or do you only like tea?"

I laugh, and it may be bigger than necessary. It feels good to be on the opposite end of a chuckle for once. "Coffee's fine. They do have the stuff back in England."

He hums thoughtfully, plucking the piece of paper from my hand and considering the list. "Stace!" He cries, waving it at her. "He got Twentysomething!"

"With Wagner?" She asks, buried somewhere deep within the aisles. "Lucky!"

"We've been trying to take that class since we were freshmen. It's always closed by the time we get to it though."

"She tried to get her dad to write a letter to the professor, he's on the board of administration so we figured it would help. It kind of had the opposite though."

"We're sort of blackballed now. Something about not wanting to teach privileged, spoiled, entitled kids who run to daddy to get what they want," Stacy finishes for him. "As if that's not what the class is already about." It's starting to get tiring, listening to them speak. It's like one long sentence that they've chopped into pieces, each taking turns. I have to keep turning so I don't get lost on who has the next line.

"It's whatever though, Stacy slept with his son and gave him herpes."

Stacy's head pops up, her fair skin filling with red from her collarbones to the tips of her ears. "It was syphilis, and I thought we weren't telling people about that anymore."

"Yeah, but this is Simon Snow-"

"Just Simon," I interrupt. They both ignore me.

"And if anyone has the right to know, it's him."

Stacy rolls her eyes, somehow managing to take a stick of gum from her pocket and shove it into her mouth with her hands so full. "I'm not seeing that logic, Tay."

"Me neither, but it was funny, so…" he laughs. She throws a book at him, and he plucks it from the air, setting it down beside him.

"Wow, fine, if we're going there then I guess it's imperative Simon Snow knows about how you gave the entire swim team crabs!" The woman behind the register gives us a strange look.

"Oh yeah? Well what about the time-"

"Um," I exclaim, drawing their eyes over to me, "I really should be going." I've still got time before I need to meet Penny, but this feels never-ending to me. If I don't escape now, I'll be here an hour from now listening to who gave who an STD.

"No, Simon Snow!" Stacy looks distraught. "What about the coffee?"

"Maybe some other time?"

She lets the books drop from her arms, holding her hand out and snapping. "Pen, Tay-Tay?"

He's got one waiting for her. "If you snap at me again, I'm shaving you in your sleep."

"Noted." She takes my arm and begins to scrawl numbers there, writing around my moles. "This way you have to call and make plans before you shower so you don't lose my number. Smart, right?"

"Bloody brilliant," I smile. She beams, pleased.

"Fantastic. See you soon, Simon Snow." Pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, she moves to the exit, books forgotten. I stoop over, picking up as many as I can as fast as I can before the security guard catches sight of me. Taylor joins me, looking amused.

"She's not usually like _that,_ " he says, and there's a laugh in his voice. "Famous people make her act up."

"I'm not famous," I say quickly, giving him the rest of the books.

"Even so," he straightens, "I hope she didn't scare you off."

I shake my head, shrugging. "She didn't."

"Cool," he winks. His eyes are dark, bordering right on the edge black. It just makes them seem extra bright when he smiles. "See you later, Simon."

"Yeah," I shove my hands into my pockets. "Bye."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

"You didn't tell me I would have a welcome committee waiting for me." Simon curls up beside me, wrapping his tail around my ankle and pressing a kiss to my neck.

"I didn't realize there would be one," I twist, pulling him into my lap. "But I'll gladly take credit for it."

"Your cousin and her friend showed me around." He leans back, pushing his hair from his face. "They were nice."

"Cousin?" He kisses me before my lips can slip into a pout.

"Stacy."

My confusion disappears as I roll my eyes, a sneer taking form. "I didn't realize Stasia went to NYU."

"Her dad is on the board, where else would she go?"

"An asylum?" I guess helpfully. "She's mad, Simon," I explain when I notice his frown.

"I'm guessing you two aren't close?"

His hands leave my waist, splaying on either side of the couch as he slides down. "My father never really got on with his sister, her mother, so we barely saw them. And then when Stasia was born and they decided to move to America, we saw them even less. I've only ever spent time with Stasia and her brother a few times, and each time they got more insane."

"She seemed nice enough to me."

"Yes, well, the last time I saw her and her brother Edgar, they locked Mordy and me in a closet and only let us out once I promised to give them a hundred dollars." My sneer deepens. "Each."

"You're just pissed because they got your money."

"That was my allowance Simon," I stress, feeling distraught, "that I'd been saving for two _months_."

"So I _shouldn't_ be friends with them?"

"Do whatever you like with Stasia, just don't say you haven't been forewarned. As for her friend, I don't know, maybe they've helped her reign in her bitchiness."

"Cool," my eyes slip shut as his mouth finds it way to my collarbone. "Maybe we should invite them over for dinner?"

"Simon, I don't really feel like talking about my cousin anymore. Do you?" He reaches down and grabs the bottom of my shirt, pulling it over my head.

"Nope."

Just as I'm about to get his shirt, my shirt, over his head (I'll never admit it, but I'm starting to like the blue. It's almost as good as the blonde, and he still moans when I give it a firm tug, so I can't complain), he giggles.

"Something to share with the class?"

"Nothing, it's just – never mind, you'll only get angry."

I pinch his side, just where his skin is exposed. He yelps, smacking away my hand. "Now you've got to say it."

"Taylor said your name sounds like a cure for erectile dysfunction." He, being the little fucker that he's always been, nips at my ear. "I can't help but agree."

"Outstanding," I scowl. He grins wickedly, trying to kiss away my snarl.

"Well, aren't you?" He murmurs in my ear. My jaw locks up at the sound of it, and I swallow harshly, reminding myself to remain calm.

(Bloody fuck that.)

I haul up from the couch, with him still in my arms, and sprint towards the bed, his laughter trailing me.

 ** _…_**

I have to ask Father for Stasia's mother's number.

"Basilton," Father sighs, and I just know he's pinching the bridge of his nose, "I haven't spoken to Emaline in years."

"That doesn't mean you won't have her number," I protest lightly. "Maybe Daphne's kept it?"

"I supported this move to New York," I settle back as he begins, rolling my eyes. I've been waiting for this diatribe; I just figured it would come when he saw my latest credit card statement. "I said nothing when you decided to move into the most expensive flat in all of the city, or when you begged me to pay for both you and Simon to go to private universities, which I helped both Simon and Penelope Bunce to get into."

"And I appreciate it," I interject. I can feel him stiffen from three thousand miles away. "Sorry," I slink back down, perpetually prepared to take the brunt of his disapproval.

He pauses, collecting himself. "I've done all of this because I knew it would make you happy, and that's all I want for you. But above that, is the oath I made to myself to never speak to Emaline again."

"And you won't have to," I promise ardently, "but her monster of a daughter is in the same class as Simon, and I need her to stay away from him." There's shuffling on the other end of the phone, and I can tell I'm making him uncomfortable. He loves me, and begrudgingly (you can't go from plotting the downfall of a teenage boy to unconditional affection overnight) loves Simon because I love Simon, but it still doesn't change the fact that he'd rather not hear the details of our relationship. "You remember what your sister's kids were like, Father. They're a terrible influence, and you know Simon."

"He doesn't need anymore of those," he finishes for me gruffly. "Very well, I'll send it to you later."

I can't hide the relief in my words the next time I speak. "Thank you."

"Oh, and Basilton? If you continue to spend money faster than I can make it, I will have no choice but to advise you to get a job." The phone cuts off before I can reply (I wouldn't have known to what say regardless).

"Always a pleasure, Father," I mutter, chucking the phone to the other side of the couch and pressing the heel of my palms to my eyes. I haven't even met with Stasia and I'm already tired.

Father doesn't send Emaline's number for a week, and by the time I do call her and get to cousin, Simon's so smitten I don't know if I'll be able to keep _him_ away from _her_.

"Please, Baz, just give her a chance," Simon says pleadingly, batting his eyelashes at me. I reach for a pillow to cover his face before I can be tricked into agreeing with him (it's happened before. It's how we ended up with a foosball table in our bedroom back in England). "I don't know why you and Penny are being so stubborn." He whines, sounding muffled with the pillow mashed against his mouth.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. So I'm not the only with reservations?

Penelope glances up from her homework, pencil clamped between her teeth and a look on concentration on her face. "I don't trust her. She speaks faster than anyone I've ever met and I'm pretty sure it's so that you don't realize most of what she's saying is rubbish."

"Sounds about right," I murmur. Simon jabs his tail into my knee, grinning triumphantly when I jump, dropping the pillow.

"If you'd both just spend some more time with her, I'm sure you wouldn't be so worried."

"Maybe," I concede, "but I don't see that happening anytime soon. Sorry, love." I brush a kiss against his forehead. "I'm off. I've got to go meet Stephanie. We're thinking of doing a duet in the fall showcase."

Simon follows me to the door, sulking. I'm tempted to bite his lower lip, just to see what he'd do. "So, we have to like your friends, but you won't give mine a chance?"

"I have better taste than you," I explain, "so naturally, yes." I duck out the door before his tail can do anymore damage.

And before he can sniff out my lie.

I'm not going to see Stephanie, although she's promised to cover for me if Simon comes calling. (I couldn't even play with her if I wanted to. She's miles ahead of me, the musical genius that she is, and I would be hopelessly lost trying to keep up. She may be the best in the school, though she'd never brag.) No, I get to suffer through the next hour with Stasia.

"Baz," she says coolly, waiting for me to sit before leaning forward. She doesn't look as I remember at all, lucky for her. She's grown into her looks, no longer awkward and lanky and in desperate need of braces. Still, there's something about her smug expression that grates against me. I find myself sneering before I can remind myself that this is supposed to be somewhat friendly.

"Stasia."

"It's Stacy."

"There's nothing wrong with the name Stasia, it's a family name."

"It's an _old_ name."

"It's our grandmother's name."

She folds her arms across her chest. "Yeah, well Grandma was a bitch."

" _Stasia_ ," her eyes narrow at the way her name, her full name, falls flatly from my tongue, "what do you want with Simon?"

"What do you mean?" Her expression is a touch too innocent, and it makes my jaw tense. "Oh, quit looking at me like that. I just want to be friends with him."

In the back of my head, I wonder how much of a fool she must think I am. "So you're telling me in a school of over fifty thousand students, you just happened to run into Simon Snow on his first day?"

"Completely unplanned, funny how things work, huh?"

A growl rips through my throat (I've spent too much time with Simon), and she rolls her eyes. "Fine, Mr. Grumpy. I was intrigued. Simon Snow is not only the Chosen One, but also managed to make my favorite cousin less of a prick." She giggles when she notices my frown deepen. (I don't think I've ever met someone more annoying than this girl). "So when my dad mentioned that we would be getting some more magickal students, and one of them just happened to be Baz Pitch's boyfriend, I did a little snooping and planned to meet him. Running into him that first day was just dumb luck, I guess."

"You need to leave him alone," I snarl, turning to glower at the waiter who comes to take our order. "Does it look like need a bread basket?" The poor kid jumps, shaking slightly as he murmurs apologies and backs away from him.

Stasia laughs, running her finds through the ends of her ponytail. It irritates me how much we look alike, the Grimm traits in me stronger in her. (Dark hair, dangerous eyes, full lips, incredible arrogance.) "Relax, Basilton. I'm nosy, not evil. I was curious about Simon, and now I like him well enough. We're going to be friends whether you like it or not, so you should get on board." She stands, draping her bag over her arm. "And maybe try a smile every once in a while, you'll get frown lines." She winks before flouncing away from the table, leaving me seething.

Of course Simon would choose her. Because why the fuck would he make my life easier?


	14. Chapter 14

_**BAZ**_

Penelope and I come up with a plan when it becomes painfully clear that Simon makes no plans to stay away from Stasia, no matter how much I beg.

"If you would actually do your job, we wouldn't be in this mess," she grumbles. The red has faded over the past month, is no longer obscenely bright. It almost suits her, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making her look ridiculous when she's annoyed. (Brown furrowed eyebrows, flushed cheeks and comically red hair have never been a great look on anyone.)

"I'm not exactly sure what you'd have me say to the most stubborn man in the universe."

"He's your boyfriend," she exclaims huffily, tugging on the edge of her skirt. It's windy and she has to pull at its hem every few steps to avoid an embarrassing show. "You would think that would have some sort of sway."

"Yeah," I mutter petulantly, and she glances up at me, "you would think."

"Oh, I was only teasing, don't be like that," she touches my arm, giving it a light squeeze. "Simon doesn't listen to anyone, it's part of his charm."

"Course. But currently that charm comes in the form of a five-foot-nine brunette who happens to bear part of my last name. So, what should we do?"

"Well, if we can't get him to drop this whole _friendship_ thing," her nose crinkles with disdain, "we can at least mitigate some of her bad behavior."

"How so?"

"We never leave them alone," she says decidedly. "I can watch them at school, and if you can keep him distracted at home then maybe this won't end in a disaster **.** "

I'm not convinced by her precarious confidence, but it's not like I've come up with anything on my own. "Okay, let's give it a shot."

It's exhausting, constantly trying to keep Simon from Stasia, or at the very least, providing a reproachful eye whenever Stasia begins to act up. It's like having a small, misbehaving child in constant need of scolding, and I already have one of those.

"No, Simon will not be seeing if he can level the city."

"Why in the world would you want to bring a blizzard to New York? It's only the end of summer!"

"If either of you even mentions messing about with the national language of The States once more, you'll both be put in time out!"

They've got me so drained that I look forward to the evenings when Simon and Stasia annoy Penelope. I'd be worried if I wasn't so grateful to be rid of her.

It's why I stiffen when I hear the front door slam and their voice mixing as Stasia chatters about something unimportant. (It takes very little time to recognize that she has absolutely nothing of substance to say.)

Steph tears her eyes away from her book, confused. (She throws herself into her reading with the same voracity that she does her playing, so she always seems dazed when she's distracted.) "Simon's home?"

"He shouldn't be." Frowning, I wait for them to walk into the kitchen, Simon dropping his bag onto the floor and hopping onto the counter.

"Hey Baz, Steph," Steph closes her books, regarding him curiously. She still hasn't figured him out, as if it's so difficult. I, for the life of me, have no idea why she's so determined to try.

"I thought you were going over to Bunce's?"

"She's doing wedding shit," Stasia answers for him, going over to the fridge. I try not to grit my teeth, annoyed with her level of comfort here. "Simon Snow wanted to stay, what with him being her head bitch, but she doesn't like me."

"I could never guess why." Simon frowns at me.

"What are you guys doing?" He asks, his attempt to try and change the subject so obvious I could laugh.

Steph crosses one leg over the other, poking her tongue out at me. "Baz was supposed to be giving me violin lessons, but now he's being boring." She nudges me with her toe. "Paying bills or whatever."

Simon perks up, swinging off the counter and coming up behind me. "Bills? Do you need help?"

I give him a tight smile, still watching Stasia warily from the corner of my eye. "No, it's fine." Father's warning echoes around the back of my mind, and the last thing I need is Simon messing something up. Neither of us has much experience in the job market…nor any skills that translate over well to a minimum wage job now that I think of it.

"You'll tell me if you need anything though?" He hovers over me, resting his hands on my shoulder. When I nod, he drops a kiss onto my forehead, pulling away some of the tension I hadn't realized I was clinging to. "We're okay?"

The question catches me off guard, and when I whirl around to stare at him, he's frowning again. "Why wouldn't we be?" He shrugs, and I see him go for his tail (he's anxious) before remembering the fact that we're in mixed company.

"Don't know," Stasia and Steph are talking, paying us little attention, but he still lowers his voice and crouches in front of me. "It's just felt _weird_ the last few days, hasn't it?"

I didn't think he'd noticed, too busy with his new friend, and it makes me warm inside. It has been weird, and most of it comes from me. I hate Stasia; I don't think I can change that (especially with all the forced quality time over the past month). But not only does that mean that I haven't been able to see Penelope as much (this arrangement only works if we take shifts), but it also means that the time I do spend with Simon is ruined with my irritability.

"We're fine," I assure him, going to touch his cheek before thinking better of it, "other than your shadow."

He glances over at Stasia, arguing over the merits of magazines over books, and grins. "I'm doing this for you too, you know," he nods, sliding his hands over my knees. I arch an eyebrow at him, and his finger comes up to trace just over my eyelid. "She's your family. I know your parents hate one another, but that doesn't have to be you two as well."

"If you're trying to forge some missing family connection, you'll only be disappointed."

"Not if you try to get to know her?" He asks, so hopeful hat I'm seconds from saying yes to anything he could ever want. "Most of the stuff she knows about you is all shit from her parents, and that's why she acts the way she does. If you both hang out some more, where no one tries to kill the other," he tacks on as an afterthought, "maybe you'll find that you have more in common than you thought."

"And if I comply but it doesn't work out? If it shows the Stasia is just as dreadful as I know she is?"

He chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking. "I'll make new friends and you won't ever have to see her again."

If I tilt my head carefully and really listen, I can hear Penelope's squeals of joy. "You're on."

He bounces up, throwing his arms around my neck and pressing a sloppy kiss beside my ear. Steph and Stasia both twirl to watch us with bemused expressions, and this time when I meet Stasia's gaze, I don't see a nuisance.

I see a challenge.

"What's going on?" Steph stands and walks over to where my violin sits, picking it up and setting it between her chin and shoulder. Normally, I don't let anyone touch my instrument, but knowing her, she'll be better than me in a matter of months, so I don't say anything.

"Baz is going to play football with us tomorrow over at the pitch by school."

"He is?" She asks unhappily.

"I am?" I repeat, sneering at my cousin. She meets my sneer and raises me a glare.

"He is," Simon confirms. "It'll be fun. You're welcome to join too, Steph."

Stephanie giggles, drawing my bow over the A string and pursing her lips at the note. "Thanks, but no thanks. I haven't played organized sports since graduating high school, and I don't intend on breaking that streak. I make an awesome cheerleader though."

"Perfect," I say, wiggling my fingers until she hands me my violin. "My team will need it."

"Come off it, Baz," Simon tosses his head back and laughs. I can just make out his roots from where I'm sitting.

"Yeah, come off it Baz," Stasia parrots, and from her, it doesn't sound nearly as sweet. I let her get the last word, one final victory, because I don't intend on losing to her. (Not tomorrow, not _ever_.)

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

I don't want to go, too much to do between classes and the wedding, but I'm no match to Simon when he's in his pleading mood. "I haven't seen you in ages." He complains, throwing himself back onto my bed and resting his head on Micah's pillow.

"I saw you yesterday," I point out, folding my laundry as quickly as I can. If I leave it lying around, either my best friend or my loving fiancée will trample my freshly washed clothes. And _neither_ one will offer to clean up. "And the day before that."

"That's at school, or policing Stasia and I. I've become a chore," he rolls onto his stomach, trying to catch my eye. "I'm not as clueless as you and Baz think I am. You both don't want to be around me because it means you have to baby-sit."

"It would be a lot easier if you just did what we asked and stopped hanging around you-know-who."

Simon flicks one of my folded pants to the floor, scowling at me petulantly. "You are such a child." I grouse, snatching it from the ground and balling it before dropping it back into the laundry basket.

"No more so than you and Baz," he argues angrily. There's a slight tinge of salt in the air, and I know he's getting worked up. "It sucks, not having family around, you know? And it's the first time that you and Baz won't just be able to go home and see your parents or your siblings, and that _sucks_."

"But we chose that," I say, falling back onto my butt and wrapping my arms around my knees, "and we both have you, and Micah, and uni."

"Maybe, but it's not the same," his fierce expression falters slightly, "I would know." And suddenly, it all makes sense, in that warped way that Simon's logic normally does. "There isn't anything I can do for you, but Baz's family is right here, in arms reach, and he's too much of a git to see that that's important."

"So this would have nothing to do with Stacy being almost as big a pain as you?" I wonder aloud, hoping to pull a smile from him. His head falls forward, curls bouncing everywhere, and I can just see the hint of a smirk.

"That certainly helps," he admits. "And she's pretty nice once you get past all the extra stuff. And she's definitely better when she's not around Taylor."

I snort, thinking of Stacy's right hand. Tall, beautiful, playful, intolerable to be around. There's more hot air in his head than brain matter, and may be one of the most _idiotic_ men I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. I was lab-partners with Dev sixth-year. _Dev_!

"So then what do you want me to do? How can I help?"

"Can you come to the football game tonight, you and Micah? If you see Baz about to bite Stacy, maybe, you know, stop him?"

I climb up from the floor, ignoring the rest of my clothes. "Micah has been complaining about how much time we've been spending inside lately. When should we be ready?"

"Now?" He says in a small voice, watching me sheepishly. "I promised Baz I would pick him up fifteen minutes ago to go to the pitch."

" _Simon_!"

"I'm sorry, I thought you would say no!" He cries, casting his eyes down when I reach for a sports bra. I tug off my shirt violently, getting dressed as quickly as I can.

"I should, if only to spite you," I hiss, shoving my feet into my trainers. "Micah can meet us there, let's go." He's brushed past me and is running through the door before I can finish my thought.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"You ever play football?" I bring my ankle to my arse, feeling the stretch in my muscles first in my right leg and then my left.

Stasia pulls her arm across her chest, black hair swishing in her ponytail. "Soccer?" She asks, watching me from the corner of her eyes. "A bit when I was younger. And then through all of high school. I was all state."

"I don't know what that is, and interestingly enough, I don't give a shit," I sneer. The sun's just setting and it's easy enough to ignore the sting, especially with the venom flowing through me.

"You should," she skips up to me, expression taunting, "it's what I'm going to use to beat you."

"We'll see," I bite back. "Snow," I bark, "ball!" Simon jumps at the sound of my voice, and he and Penelope share a worried glance. " _Now_!"

"Touchy," Simon grumbles underneath his breath. "Me and Penny pick teams." Stacy and I whip around to glare at him at the same time. "You snooze, you lose," he shrugs, jogging backwards to the center of the pitch. "Everyone line up!"

I don't know most of the people playing, but Simon seems to be friendly with the lot of them. They clap him on the back and call his name as we all file in front of him and Penelope.

"Enjoy being picked last," I whisper, bending to retie my shoelaces.

"Sure, almost as much as I'll enjoy kicking your ass," she bumps her knee into my shoulder, knocking me off balance. I shoot daggers up at her, wishing that there was some truth to that expression "if looks could kill". (I would never entertain the idea of using that spell. Not truly. Not at most times anyway.)

"Basilton, if you plan on joining us anytime soon, you're my first pick," Penelope calls, rolling onto the ball of her feet and then back onto her ankles. She and Simon both don't know what to do with their energy, fidgeting as they make their choices. I frown, looking over at Simon. He purposefully avoids my gaze, pointing at Micah.

"The future Mr. Bunce," he calls, smiling cheekily. Micah rolls his eyes, but runs forward, bumping chests with Simon.

Penelope considers the line, her gaze bumping critically over each person until it lands on Stasia. "Stacy."

I grab at her shoulder, yanking her backwards so I can hiss in her ear. "What the fuck are you doing, Bunce?"

"Micah's a beast at football," she says, wiggling me off. "We'll need her. She was _all-state_."

"What does that even _mean_?"

"It means that you should shut up and let me make my choices before Simon snags all the good ones."

Stacy storms up to me, looking as aggrieved as I feel. "This your doing?" She growls. "Too afraid to be beaten by a girl to take me on?"

I get as close to her as I can before the urge to sink my teeth into her neck takes over. "Trust me, even on the same team, I'll wipe you up and down the pitch."

"Big talk," she smiles, the way a predator would smile at its prey (I would know). "Let's see if you can back it up."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

This was definitely one of my less thought out plans.

" _Don't_ get in my way again," Baz snarls at Stacy, running past us, his voice harsh. I shiver at the threat, but Stacy seems fine.

"I'm sorry, did you see the goal I just made?"

"It was all right," he skids to a stop, kicking up grass in his wake, "keep playing like that and maybe you'll catch up to the five I made."

"I don't know what you see in that asshole," Stacy jerks a few wisps of hair back into her ponytail and I fear she might scalp herself soon.

I contemplate her question, turning to watch Baz as he lifts his hands over his head, eyes sharp as he catches his breath. I was wrong when I said he looks like he belongs in a boy band. No, he should spend every second on this pitch, wearing those tight shorts and baggy t-shirt, stray strands of hair matted against his sweat damp forehead.

Baz in jeans. Baz in sweatpants. Baz in his workout pants. Baz with _no_ pants at all. I can't decide on a favorite, and it would be criminal to make myself.

Baz with no pants, definitely Baz with no pants.

And then he bends and my mouth dries. I'll die thinking of Baz in his football shorts. And I'll die _happy_.

"He's decent," I finally answer. She cocks an eyebrow up at me, but doesn't reply, launching herself across the pitch to try and get to the ball before Baz can get to it. I run after her, ready to get between them if necessary. I see Penelope hovering beside them too, doing an awful job as a goalie.

"Same team, you psychopath," Baz yells, forgetting the ball long enough to sneer at Stacy. "Or do you not understand the meaning of that?"

"As if you know anything about being on the same _team_ as someone," she shouts back, slamming her hands into Baz's chest.

"Guys," I say tentatively, stepping forward until they're within arms reach. The rest of the players all watch us dubiously, the ball sitting ignored in the center of the pitch.

Baz and Stacy pace around one another. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You and your father and his rich bitch wife." Stacy screams.

"Don't," he growls, stalking forward, "you dare speak of my family."

"My mother was supposed to be a part of your team. _I_ was supposed to be a part of your team. And the first time you talk to me in years is to tell me to stay away from your boyfriend?"

Baz gawps at her, and it's either the sun, or the exercise, or the constant supply of human blood, but he's just pink enough to pale underneath her scornful gaze. "My father had a good reason for keeping our families apart."

"No," Stacy fumes, "the reason your father hates my mother? The reason you all think you're so much better than everyone else? It's because my mother didn't have enough magic, that she wasn't powerful enough to be a great Grimm." Slowly, just slow enough for Baz and I to see, she deflates. Her anger leaks out of her, and all that's left is the hurt. "We weren't good enough, and all that you've done since moving here is remind me of that again and again. That _I'm_ not good enough."

Baz blinks at me, eyes wide and lost. "That was never my intention."

"I may be annoying, and I may be a bitch, but I _am_ better than you, because I'll never be an elitist, power crazy asshole like you. I'll never be a bad guy."

"Guys," I repeat, louder this time. "Stop!"

"Right," she laughs bitterly. "Let's just play."

"Stasi-"

"Simon, throw the ball back in." She's running before Baz can call her back, tapping her palm against Bryce, one of the guys from her freshmen dorm. "And be snappy about it."

Baz shoots me a watery smile, waving me away before I can go ask him if he's okay.

Yeah, this was a terrible plan.

The game's picked back up as soon as the ball leaves me fingers and hits the ground. Baz gets to it first, moving it from the tip of his toe to his knee with a flick of his ankle before kicking it to Stacy with deadly accuracy. She stops it with her chest, letting it drop down to the grass before taking off with it, moving faster than I can move my head.

It's tragic, the way they feel about one another, because like this it's so clear that they're _meant_ to be a family. They move in sync without realizing it. There's not a single weakness between the two of them, strong and quick, precise and filled with boundless energy. My team doesn't stand a chance against them.

"Why did you let me do this?" I ask Penny when we stop for a water break, soaking wet with sweat. She hasn't fared much better than me, gingerly peeling her drenched shirt away from her skin.

"I was just about to ask the same question," Micah says from behind her, an ice pack pressed to his knee, "and why I was dragged into this mess."

"I'm sorry," Penny groans, falling onto her back and tossing her arm over her head. It's cooled a few degrees since we started, but we've all been working furiously to try and keep up with Stacy and Baz. "Is it time to go in yet?"

"It's only half time," I stretch my arms over my head, barely stifling a moan as something pops. "Although there's no way your team won't win."

"Want to make it even?" She peeks at me from under elbow. "We'll take Baz, you can have Micah. Maybe this way he can avoid being kicked as much."

"Gee, thanks," he says dryly. "But I think I'll sit out the rest of the game."

Penny turns to give him a panicked look. "Please Micah, there's no way we can handle those two alone."

"You. Owe. Me," he grits out, getting to his feet slowly. He winces when he puts weight on his left leg, shifting until he's comfortable before clapping. "Ball me," he shouts, jogging away from us.

Penny watches him go, chewing on her lip. "Aren't I supposed to save my favors until after we're married?"

I shrug, my focus sliding over to where Baz sits with Steph, his face buried in his hands. She pats his shoulder, barely grimacing at how sweaty he must be. "I should…" Penny sees where I'm gesturing and she nods.

"I'll just be here, dying," she calls. "I'll let you know if need to find yourself a new friend." I swallow back a laugh, collapsing beside Baz and smiling at Steph.

She glances between us worriedly, giving Baz's arm a quick rub before standing. "I think I'll go say hi to Penny." I'm so grateful to her in that moment for being there for him that I could kiss her.

I don't, that would probably be a little odd for all parties involved.

Instead, I wait until I'm sure we're alone, and then I pull him into me, unwrapping his arms from around his knees so that I can take his hands. "I'm not a bad guy," he mumbles into my shoulder.

"I know."

"I'm _not_ ," he says again as if I've said nothing. "I'm not a bad guy." I pinch his chin and nudge until he's forced to look at me. He hasn't lost that confused glimmer in his eyes. If anything, it's grown.

"I know that Baz, I know."

He hunches in on himself, getting smaller and smaller the longer I wait for him to speak. "I try really hard not to be anyway."

"I know that, everyone knows that, I'm promise." My fingers comb through his hair, as sweaty as it is.

"I wasn't wrong for acting the way I did. Bunce hates her too, she-"

"Takes some time to love," I offer, trying not to smile. He rolls his eyes, pulling back from me as much as I'll let him. Which isn't a lot. Or at all. "Can seem like a bit of a prat for the first couple of _years_."

"I get your point Simon, subtle as you are."

"She's also smart and funny and pretty great, just like someone else I know."

"Okay."

"You know the someone else I'm talking about, right?"

"Yes, Simon. I cracked the riddle, complex as it was."

"It's _you_ , Baz."

"Simon?"

"Yes, love?"

"Say another word and I may have to hurt you," he kisses me, quick as a flash and salty. "I've got to go and make things right."

"I knew you would."

"Smug isn't a good look on you, Snow."

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

She's not with the rest of the group, or inside by the bathroom. I think she might have left (how easy would that make things for me) but then I catch a sight of black hair on pale white skin and I know I've found her.

"Stalking me now?" She asks wryly, sitting on the hood of a car. "Want to go for round two? I've got years of ammunition stored up."

I dig my toe into the gravel, looking just past her shoulder. "That stuff you said about my father and your mother, I had no idea."

"Then why do you think they stopped talking?" She asks sarcastically. "Have a falling out over Christmas dinner?"

"My father is far from perfect," I shove down the defensiveness that wells up in me, "but he's trying to be better. For me, for my sisters."

"Whatever," she rolls her eyes.

"And," I say through bared teeth, raising my voice, "I'm trying to be better than him still. It's mostly Simon's influence, I admit it, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be a good person. Which is why I'm here to apologize."

She scoffs. "So you can clear your conscious and then keep being a dick?"

"So I can maybe try to repair some of the damage between our families. Simon seems to think there's something redeemable about you, and the last time he felt that way, I finally got the love of my life. So, I'm inclined to believe in him." She tries to hold onto her scowl, but her confusion requires more attention. "I'm inclined to believe in you."

"If corniness is a side affect of falling in love, I think I'll stay single forever."

"You do that, but in the mean time, it won't kill either one of us to try not to hate one another. Like it or not, we're family, regardless of our parents and some feud that doesn't involve us."

"It's that simple?"

"For the sake of Simon and our own sanity, it has to be."

She studies me suspiciously, probing for any lies and finding none. "Fine," she sniffs, "but this in no way means that I like you."

"The feeling is mutual," I spit back, "very much so. That's what we're trying to change Stasia."

"Stacy," she says sternly. "This will only work if you stop calling me by a seventeen-hundred year old name."

"Okay," I turn to go, before twisting back with a frown. "But you have to stop calling Simon by his full name."

"Deal," she shrugs, "I was only doing it to annoy you anyway." She smiles as my eyebrows knit together. "And him too, don't worry."

"Well, quit it." She nods, slipping off from the car and sticking out a hand. "Don't think this means I'll be taking it easy other there." I take it, giving it a firm squeeze.

"We're on the same team, asshole." There's no venom in her voice, or less so than before at least (this seems like progress, but Snow has made me such a sap that my judgment isn't what it used to be).

"I've been traded," her hand tightens around mine, "this game has suddenly gotten interesting. Let the best player win."

"Thanks," she simpers, "I intend to."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

I don't know what he said, or how he did it, but when the game starts again, it feels different. You would think two people who hate one another as much as they did the beginning half of the game would go for each other's throat, but everything seems more… _civil_.

Soon it's just a game between the two of them, matching point for point until they're the only ones still playing. The only reason either one steps off the pitch is after Baz makes two goals, stealing the ball from Stacy and sending it like a bullet to the unprotected goal.

"All state," Baz nods, ruffling his hair with his hands, sending drops of sweat flying. "I get it now. Makes sense."

"You're not terrible either," Stacy concedes reluctantly, "you're actually almost as good as me."

"She says after the winning shot."

"There's always time for a rematch."

Penny and I share frantic glances. "No!" We both cry, stumbling forward and plucking the ball from Baz's arms. "You two must be hungry?" My stomach rumbles loudly at the mention of food. "I could use a burger or two. Maybe fries. A shake, a side of pasta."

Stacy crinkles her nose, barking out a laugh. "Um, grotesque, I think I'll pass." She glances uncertainly over at Baz, watching as he picks up his bags and slings it over his shoulder. "Maybe some other time?" She says once he's close enough to answer.

"Sure, could be fun," he says coolly, his face expressionless. "Good game Stas – Stacy."

"Same to you, Baz." She flutters her fingers at me, going to give Penny a hug before thinking better of it. Her clothes cling to her awkwardly, same as her hair, and she pauses before she leaves, sucking in a deep breath.

"You two are practically best friends," I skip up to him, hopping up onto his back. With everyone gone, I flex my wings, letting them flurry in the breeze. "If I had known all it would take was a football game, I would have brought you two to the pitch ages ago."

"You're a terrible meddle, Simon." He clasps his hands underneath my legs, hiking me up so that I won't slip off. "And after I got her to stop calling you Simon Snow."

"You did?" I beam at him, leaning as far forward as I can to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks. You have no idea how annoying it gets hearing your own name like that over and over."

He hums, bumping his hip into Penny's. "Now all that's left," I continue to chatter when he says nothing, "is for you to meet Taylor, grow to like him to, and then we can all be friends!"

"Lovely," he murmurs, "this goes without saying, but I don't plan on doing any of that."

Penny pinches my ankle. "Don't worry Si, he's whipped. Give him until the walk home and I bet the answer will have changed."

Sneering, Baz heaves me off, laughing when I land hard on my ass. "You smell disgusting."

"No worse than you," I growl at his back. "Come on, we'll shower and then we'll get food."

" _We'll_?" I scramble forward and waggle my eyebrows. "Get home before me and we can make it a bath." With the last bit of energy I have, I sprint forward, but not before throwing a wink back at him.

"You two are so disgusting." Penny calls. I hear Baz chuckle, and for the first time in a month, I don't worry about what's going to happen tomorrow. And it's a _great_ feeling.


	15. Chapter 15

_**AN: Sorry, it's been forever and a day since I updated. I'll try to be more consistent, but anyways, enjoy! And thanks to the bestest of betas, Raggazzed12 for stopping this story from devolving into nonsense.**_

 _ **SIMON**_

"Baz," I wave my arm frantically, trying to catch his attention, "you came."

Walking over, he loops an arm around my waist. "I didn't really have anything else to do, what with my boyfriend being so social and whatnot."

"He must be a prick," I laugh, leading him over to where Stacy and Taylor sit.

"He is," he confirms, giving one of my curls a tug. "Stasia," he nods at her.

"God Baz, it's just Stacy, for the millionth time. It isn't the fucking middle ages."

His nose crinkles as he frowns. "Force of habit, won't happen again." Baz pulls off his jacket and drapes it on the back of the nearest chair, mine. "But there isn't anything wrong with your name, you know. Or old names in general." He hesitates, his lips turning down slightly before he shrugs and touches her elbow. She gives him a small smile, shaking him off.

"Course not _Basilton,_ but it works on you. On me, it sounds like I should be shipped off to an old folks home."

She moves forward to press a kiss to either one of Baz's cheeks. She's so close that she doesn't seem to notice the way he rolls his eyes. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Stacy."

"Same to you, cousin."

The peace between them is tentative at best, but it's peace. Baz doesn't cringe whenever she walks into the flat, and Stacy's making an effort not to get on his nerves. I even think I heard talk of the two of them getting dinner. _Alone_. No buffer, and no one to stop my dear boyfriend from murdering my dear friend.

"Alright, you two. Now that we're all _getting along_ ," Baz's tongue sweeps over his fangs as he scowls. "how about we get to the fun part and start drinking?"

"Simon, the peacekeeper," Taylor jokes, grazing his knuckle across my chin as he laughs. I knock him away, using my free hand to steal his beer and finishing it in the time it takes him to settle back into his seat. "Shit Si, I just got the last two rounds."

"And now you can go for a third." I shake both empty cups at him, grinning when he takes it and slides off his stool.

"That's Taylor?" Baz drops his mouth beside my ear, and he sounds weird. I turn to watch him, a grim expression settling on his face and his eyes narrowing into a glare.

"Yeah," I frown. His reaction is confusing. I know he's still not Stacy's biggest fan, but he promised to try and have a good time. And in return, I promised to pay. "He's a cool guy."

"Right," he sneers just as Taylor sits back the table, three beers in hand.

"Here," he shoves one over to Baz. "Figured it was a safe bet. Can't tell if you're more of a red or white wine sort of guy."

Baz stiffens, his hand a vice around my arm as he sucks in what can only be a calming breath.

He's angry, _really_ angry.

"I'm more of a shove my foot down-" I reach below the table and squeeze his thigh, rubbing my thumb against his knee over and over until I feel him relax. "A beer is fine," he grits out, and this time his sneer is directed at me. "Thanks."

Stacy bounds back over to us, shots in hand. "They teach you how to drink tequila over at the fancy magickal school?"

"They did us one better," he pulls out his wand. " _ **Liquor Before Beer, In The Clear!"**_ I snatch back my hand, holding back a whimper as I rub at an imaginary burn. Stacy holds out her hand expectantly, and he taps his wand against her, repeating the spell.

Her eyes widen and she flexes her fingers, letting out a peal of giggles. "I think you just deep-fried my hand."

"You'll get used to it," he smirks, downing his shot. "Now, you plan on keeping up, or should I finish these for you?"

"Game on," she clinks two of the shot glasses together, downing them in quick succession. "And here I was thinking you'd only be able to drink the top shelf stuff."

"I'm a man of many talents." He takes the shot that was supposed to be Taylor's, tossing it back neatly. "While you were vomiting on your prom date's shoes, I was perfecting the art of getting smashed and looking good while doing it."

She quirks up an eyebrow, taking a dainty sip of my beer. "All right, James Bond. You think you can look good getting another round?"

"Better than you," he runs his hand down the length of my back before following her over to the bar. I can still hear them bickering from across the bar.

Taylor leans into me. "They always like this?"

I shrug, grinning at him. "You don't know the half of it."

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"For the sake of familial bonding-"

I hand my debit card over to the bartender. "Tequila, please." His gaze lingers on Stacy for a moment too long, and I narrow my eyes at him, sucking on my fangs. Something akin to a protective flare passes through me. "Now, if that's not too difficult for you."

"For the sake of familial bonding," she repeats, poking me in the side, "I feel as if I should tell you something."

"Well, spit it out then. The entire preamble is killing my buzz."

"God, can you not be a dick for five seconds?" She says through gritted teeth. "I'm trying to tell you something important."

"And I'm trying to tell you to get _on_ with it." She glares at me, but it disappears underneath a smile once I shove another drink into her hand. "What is it, Stacy?"

"Taylor," her gaze flicks over her shoulder to where Taylor and Simon sit, chatting easily. Taylor slings an arm over his shoulder, and it makes me stiffen.

"What about him?" It comes out deadlier than I intended (and yet it feels right).

"I think he might be into Simon. Two weeks ago, I would have totally told him to go for it, leaving you heartbroken and alone, but Halloween is coming up, which generally makes me more magnanimous - "

"-Obviously-"

"And we are trying not to do the whole hating one another thing anymore. So I thought I should warn you."

"I suppose I should thank you, but there's nothing to worry about."

She pushes at my shoulder until I turn to her, gripping my arm and managing to look serious for the first time this evening. "No, you don't seem to get it. For the last three years, guys have been assuming that their relationships can withstand hurricane Taylor. They can't. I love him to death, but he's just charming enough, and just handsome enough, and just persistent enough that most, if not all, have been wrong."

"This happens a lot?" I ask, cringing at the way my voice cracks. "Taylor going for other people's boyfriends?"

"Often enough that I'm telling you." She cocks her head to the side, racking her brain, "and there was an incident with a pet fish once, but it wasn't sexual. At least I don't think it was."

"Stacy, pertinent information only please."

"Right, sorry. Just," she stops, considering me with an unnerving amount of sympathy, "be careful, all right? I've been trying to keep Taylor from doing anything, but Simon's so _naïve_ that he probably won't notice something's up until Taylor's tongue is jammed down his throat."

This time when I look back at Simon and Taylor, that protective flare from earlier returns, ten-fold. It sets me on fire from the inside out, turning the part of my brain telling me to stay calm into a smoldering mess (it was never truly useful anyway). Because this time, it's not only protective, but possessive.

Simon Snow is _mine_.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"I think they'll be properly pissed by the time we leave," I laugh. Taylor sags into me and I let him, rolling my eyes. Guess I'll be the most sober one of the night. Baz and Stacy are still trying to out-drink one another. Stacy's swaying, mouthing the words to the song blaring from the speakers. Every few minutes she wanders away, flirting with the guys at the next table over for free drinks.

Baz, on the other hand, confuses me. Normally when he gets this drunk, which is _rarely_ , he's so loose it makes me love him more. He presses messy kisses to my neck and sings karaoke with Penny and lets go of his worries, just for a little bit.

Today, he's angry and I don't know why. He tenses whenever I speak, and every time Taylor opens his mouth, he's all but ready to pounce.

"You need a backrest, mate? One other than my _boyfriend_?" He sneers, knocking his shoulder into mine. I grip the end of the table to keep from falling off the stool, but it has the desired effect. Taylor straightens, flattening his hand against my back until I'm steady.

"You need a glass of water?" Taylor counters, "you seem a little off balance."

"I'm fine," he spits back, taking the rest of my beer and finishing it in two gulps. I smooth my hand along his, frowning.

"What's the matter?" I murmur to him, leaning in. His breath tickles my lip when he sighs, and its sour with the stench of alcohol. "Do you want to leave?"

"I could drive you two back?" Taylor offers helpfully. "I've been wanting to see your place anyway." Taylor grins, and Baz is made of ice. He doesn't move, and for a second I think he might not be _breathing._ "What do you say, Simon? Ready for me to find out if you're a boxer or briefs sort of guy?"

Baz lunges up from his chair, and on impulse I follow him, sticking an arm out when it looks as if he's about to attack. "I'm sure he's the type to go commando," Stacy flits up to the table, staring pointedly at Taylor before shoving Baz back into his chair with considerable strength.

"Get out of my way," he hisses, and I'm not sure if it's at me or Stacy.

"Careful," Stacy says, low enough for only Baz and I to hear, "your fangs are showing." Baz's eyes, locked on Taylor seconds before, dart up, widening with alarm. My heart thumps painfully in my chest, hammering to get to him, to protect him. "He's not worth it."

"How did–what're you–you _can't_ ," I stammer in a pant, and this time when I grab for Baz's hand, he squeezes back.

"Don't worry," she rolls her eyes. "That wasn't a threat, it was a piece of advice. I'd rather not bury my best friend. Play nice."

"What're you three whispering about?" Taylor asks, smiling good-naturedly. I don't get why Baz hates him, how anyone could with a smile like his. It's impossible not to grin back when he's smiling like that. Like nothing bad has ever happened to him. Like nothing bad will ever happen to _me_.

"Nothing," Stacy chirps, and her smile slips easily into place. "Just how I decimated Baz here in a drinking contest."

Baz manages a grunt and a sneer. "And," she continues unperturbed, "how I think a celebratory drink is in order. Basilton, could you be of some assistance?"

"No," he says, and I can't find a single emotion behind the word. "I think I'm done for the night."

It's like this for the rest of the night, making me more and more anxious. I spend half my time trying to stop Baz from wrenching Taylor's head off and the other half reminding myself to breath so I don't end up ripping a magickal hole over the state of Missouri.

I don't even _know_ where Missouri is. I can't steal all their magic from them, it wouldn't be right.

By the time we're ready to go home, I'm so annoyed I could burst. And I do.

"What was that, Baz?" I growl, throwing his jacket down onto the coach. He slams the door behind him, snarling angrily as he goes and begins banging around the kitchen. " _Baz!"_ This magic is different, more easily controlled, but it's still mine. It's coursing through my veins, coating my skin, making me sweat.

"Did you know?" He seethes, coming back into the room with a glass clenched in his fist. I don't need vampire scent to know it's the vodka Micah bought us as a housewarming gift. I want to tell him he probably shouldn't, but I don't. Not when he's angry like this.

"What?"

He's nearly shouting. Baz _never_ shouts, not ever. I'm the one who loses my temper, who needs to be reigned back in, and he's always the one to do it."Did you know that Taylor wanted to _sleep_ with you?"

I'm so surprised by his anger that I forget to blink.

Crowley, Taylor? _Taylor?_ I'd laugh if this didn't all seem so completely ridiculous.

"Where'd you get that idea?"

Baz slams the glass down, his alcohol forgotten. "Aleister almighty, you can't be _that_ oblivious, Simon." He pauses, appraising me for a moment. "Never mind, you probably had no fucking clue."

"Clue about what?" I cry, irritated. "What is your problem?"

"How about the fact that this guy is flirting with you and you do nothing to stop it. In fact, you urge him on!"

"Taylor's just like that with everyone," I exclaim, balling my fists. "He'd flirt with a lamppost if it would give him the time of day." I can see him so clearly in my mind, leaning over the counter in the dining hall to smirk at the cashier, winking at the girl with purple streaks in her hair as we walk down the street, puckering his lips at Stacy as she giggles. I don't know, it's just...him! The way he is, I guess. "Besides," I add, "he's not even _gay._ "

"He's as gay as I am dead," he barks. "He spent the entire time looking at you like you were something he wanted to _eat_."

"Wouldn't be the first night I've spent being someone's meal."

He rears back as if I've hit him, and it feels like I have. I want to take it back as soon as it's out, want to protect him so that he never looks that way again.

"First your magic and now this? What else are you going to keep from me?" He asks quietly, embers burning on coal, ready to grow into a flame. I should back away before his fury catches on my clothes, but instead, I lean in.

"You really think _you_ can lecture me on secrets, Baz?" I growl, folding my arms across my chest. "What about the fact that we're here? The way I see it, not only have you kept things from me, but you've lied too, so you don't get to be angry with me."

"Fine, I'm not angry." He's flushed, glowing with rage. "But I don't want you to hang out with him anymore."

I gape at him, my thoughts sputtering out in the time it takes for me to catch my breath. "You can't _tell_ me who I can and cannot be friends with." He raises an eyebrow, so quickly and so high that I expect it to fly off.

"If he's that important to you, we obviously have a bigger problem than I thought."

"He's _not_ ," I snap back, "our problem is the fact that you're trying to _control_ me."

"This is important to me."

"And it's important that you _trust_ me." He pauses, and it makes my stomach dip violently. "You _do_ trust me, right?"

"Don't turn this around on me."

"I'm not. I just need to know." I step forward, so close that he's within arm's reach. I think about kissing him, throwing an arm around him and pulling him into our bedroom so that we won't fight. Because this doesn't feel like a normal fight. And I hate it. "So, do you?"

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

I swallow. And then I swallow again. And then one more time because I can feel my answer shooting up my throat and once it's released, once it's barreled past my clenched teeth and pursed lips, there will be no going back. I won't be able to go back.

"Baz," he says my name softly, a prayer falling from the lips of the damned (and I should know, here in this hell of my own making). "Do -"

I step back before he's able to get the question out again. "It's late, Simon. We can talk about this more in the morning."

His shoulders slump forward, and in that moment, I hate him for the relief shining in his eyes. For the sheer hope I can feel radiating off of him that this is just another silly argument, one that we'll forget. A smear on an otherwise spotless relationship.

A lie we'll both tell ourselves to get through the night.

"Yeah," he nods, so eager to cling to the life raft I've thrown he doesn't see me drowning. "Okay, yeah," he huffs out a breath, his fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. "Look - "

"No," I say quickly, watching him cringe at the snarl in my voice, "no," I repeat gently, "really, no more tonight. Just, head to bed, I'll be there in a minute."

He wants to argue, I can see it in the curl of his mouth and the crinkle in his forehead, but he doesn't. No, he raises his dissent in small, hesitant steps towards the bedroom. He eviscerates me, not in words, but in the tiny, lingering look he shoots my way as if he somehow knows I can't stomach the sight of him. Not right now, not yet.

I wait until I hear the mattress settle with his weight. And then seven heartbeats more until there's a whisper soft snore. And then five more until I'm sure he won't awake at the sound of the front door shutting behind me.

And then I walk. I don't have anywhere particular in mind, but if I don't walk, I'll scream. And if I start to scream, I'll tear the whole world apart and it'll be the least we all deserve.

 _No, Simon, I don't think I trust you._ The thought, like acid against my tongue only minutes before, worms it's way to the forefront of my mind. I shove it back down, but it shoves back, it's teeth as sharp as mine. _I want to, like I've never wanted anything before, but I can't._

"Stop," I whisper, my legs moving faster on their own accord, as if they can outrun that argument, the same fucking argument as the last one, and the one before that (a symphony I can play by heart but always with a different beat. Always able to catch me by surprise.)

 _And the worst part is… "_ Stop," I say again, louder this time, drawing the eyes of a man waiting by the bus stop, cell phone in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. _The worst part is…_ I'm running, the beat of my footsteps just barely keeping it at bay. _...It's all my fault._

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"Morning," I chirp as I walk into the kitchen, pressing a quick kiss onto his cheek before heading over the fridge. He peeks up at me from over the corner of his book, and he doesn't look...happy to see me exactly. But he doesn't look angry either, so I guess that's something. "You sleep okay?"

"Just about the same as every other day," he mutters, shaking the hair from his eyes before glancing back at his book.

"Good," I think Penny would be proud of me. I sound confident, even though I'm still waiting for the crash, for things to pick up from where he just stopped yesterday. But Penny's mum always said, " _there's no use worrying about today when you could prepare for tomorrow,"_ and it's the best I got. It's all I got. "Have any plans today?"

He hums, a noncommittal sound as he comes over and drops his mug into the sink. "And you?"

Shrugging, I shove my hand into my pocket, leaning back against the counter. "I was just going to head over to the library with Stacy and Taylor," he flinches, and I could tear my own tongue out. "Just for a little bit, and then maybe meet up with Penny afterwards."

"Sounds like you'll have a grand ol' time."

"I could not go," I shoot back just as quickly, and somehow it feels like a weapon in my mouth. "Stay at home, get some studying done here instead."

His gaze finds mine. "Do whatever the fuck you want, Snow," he says flatly, "I'm going to be gone most of the day, so I don't mind either way."

"Baz - "

"Steph and I have got to practice with some other kids from school so I should be off," his lips are cold as they brush against my forehead. "Have fun _studying_." He's out the door before I can respond. "And tell Taylor I say hi."

"I will." I growl back, my fingers quaking by my side, my vision blurring with magic and anger and a sadness that threatens to tilt the room.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"Yes, I'd like to cancel that reservation." Steph's eyes find mine and her eyebrows furrow, glancing pointedly at my phone. "Yes...yes...yes, I understand that there's an idiotically long wait time for another reservation if I do happen to change my mind." My lips swivel up with disdain as the hostess continues to prattle on.

"Who's that?" Steph asks, plopping down beside me with no concern for her textbooks as they tumble to the floor.

"Rao's," I mouth back.

With widened eyes, she leaps forward, moving like a viper as she snatches my phone. "Cancel that cancellation," she squeaks. She jabs her thumb into the end button, letting out a relieved sigh only to shoot me a sheepish expression once she notices my sneer.

"My phone," I wiggle my fingers as I jerk an eyebrow up. She drops it into the center of my palm. "Feel like explaining?"

"It's almost impossible to get a table for Rao's in advance. Only a complete moron would do something that stupid, and I've worked way to hard to ever willingly befriend a moron."

"Glad to see this is about you."

She brushes away my comment with a shrug, poking my leg with the toe of her boot. "You were so excited, or as excited as _you_ get anyway, when you got the reservation." Contorting her face into something of cool disdain, her forehead crinkles as she frowns. "' _You might enjoy fries and dollar beers, Steph, but my palette is a bit more sophisticated.'_ Said so seriously even as you downed a Big Mac."

"I won't be hungry."

Rolling her eyes, she scoots over a bit. "Two weeks from now?"

"Would you just drop it?" She yanks at her ponytail, pouring all of her frustration and discomfort into her blonde curls. "I'm sure Simon will be busy that night anyway."

"Okay."

I ignore the way she draws the word out, her lips pursed and her eyebrows pinched as she tries to decipher the bitterness in my voice. I ignore the worried glances she throws my way as the rest of our group files into the room, settling around us with the type of ambient chatter perfect to mask the tension between us.

(Or maybe the tension I brought along with me. My chest feels tight with words I haven't said, my head throbbing with an anger I have no way of releasing.)

No, instead of letting her wide-eyed, concerned looks shatter what little of my control I have left, I nod when anyone asks me a question. I hum when expected, I bark out an almost believable laugh even though nothing is funny.

And I shove Stephanie Kane and Simon Snow to the back of my mind where I'm sure they'll manage until I can handle all of this.

 _ **...**_

Simon's legs jog underneath the table, energy leaking from his pores, from his bouncing fingertips, from the corners of his mouth, twisting and bending with every breeze that passes through the kitchen.

I would be impressed, if not for the staggering weight pressed to my chest. He's gone a full forty-five minutes without a single word, shoveling in food faster than I can hand it to him (to give us both something to do, I suppose).

He doesn't break until his toe nudges mine, our winces almost simultaneous.

"Sorry," he murmurs around his fork. "You want me to stop?"

"No," I say with a quick eye roll, "please, continue. I love my steak with a side of insufferable table shaking." I watch as his shoulders tick up into a bemused shrug, trying to figure me out. Even I'm not certain if I'm being sarcastic or not, so I add a quick sneer. He tips onto the back legs of his chair, his knife whirling around and around his fingers as he considers me.

"Can I tell you about my day?" He asks, seemingly unfazed by my frown. "It sort of blew, I think you'd get a kick out of it."

"Yeah?" I answer before I remind myself that I can't afford to be interested in that gleam in his watery eyes, and the slope of his neck when he cocks his head to the side. Waiting.

"Stacy ended up bailing on me, so I wandered around the city for a bit looking for a place to eat, and ended up hopelessly lost. And then I figured, might as well have some fun with it, only to end up in a porn shop with some old Vietnamese woman pawing at me."

My mouth perks up into a smirk on it's own accord. "Well," I say dryly, "don't stop now. You've accomplished the impossible, I'm actually interested."

He laughs, tilting further back with an easy grin taking root on his lips. "I ended up buying some _wicked_ flavors of lube just so that she'd let me leave."

"Is this your attempt at seduction?"

"What'd I say that one time?" He ponders thoughtfully. "No one's seducing a vampire?" The chair makes a satisfying click as it slams down to the floor, the normally clumsy Simon prowling towards me with an impish smile. "What absolute shit."

He tugs me up faster than I have the chance to push him away, his mouth (tart from the lemon juice on the chicken) so insistent I don't even bother mustering the strength to tear myself away.

"It was sort of bonkers," he growls between kisses, "bacon and blueberry and candy apple." His hand, wrapped around my wrist, pulls away for a moment, coming back as he lets out a triumphant grunt. " _And_ ," he whispers, my knees buckling at the quiet moan in the back of his throat, "sour cherries." He messes with the tub long enough to get it open.

"That," I say, my hips slotting against his when he gives my hair a rough tug, "isn't going anywhere near me."

"We'll see about that."

We've worked quickly before (the byproduct of two and half long years of longing looks and ruined socks) (and that's just the bits when we were together. I can't even dredge up all those nights at Watford, or this will really be pathetically swift.)

But, tonight is a war of our respective wills clashing against one another, shooting us farther faster than ever before. Our argument, every ugly word spat in the heat of the moment and apology neither of us bothered to say, it's here between each kiss.

In his fingers pressed against my belt.

In the row of bruises along his chin, his neck, his chest, in the shape of my lips.

In his panted pleas to "slow down, Baz. Let me look at you, Baz. Crowley, you do that again and I might... _Merlin_!"

I couldn't slow down even if I wanted to, shoving every last inch of unspoken thoughts into this, into making sure his toes curl and his every breath hitches in his chest and there's no room for anything in my mind but a quiet soliloquy of Simon Snow's sticky body against mine. (The happy kind, from the beginning of a Shakespearean comedy before everything goes to shit and I'm turned into a donkey.) (A vampiric donkey, the most coherent of my post-coital thoughts.)

And when I can stand without seeing stars, I pull us both up (making a quick note to disinfect the kitchen floor) and nod. "Thanks."

Simon catches his swollen lips between his teeth, his shoulders hunching forward. "It wasn't exactly a business agreement." He tries to pull me back into him, all broad shoulders and splotches of pink skin, but I wriggle away. "You don't need to be so...formal?"

"Not formal, just knackered," bending, I snatch up his boxers, tossing them to him before dressing with the last shred of dignity I have left. "You can head to bed," (the kitchen smells like sweat and cherry scones. Aleister almighty, Simon fucking Snow), "I'll tidy up a bit."

"I can help!" He says, too eagerly, rocking up onto the ball of his feet.

"No," I reply, a little harsher than I mean to. "You need your rest," I add, softer this time so that I don't have to watch his face fall any farther, "what with your incredibly busy day and all."

"Okay," he says, that same uncertainty from our painful dinner returning. The same nearly silent protests in his locked muscles and clenched jaw as the night before. "If you're sure."

"I am. Goodnight, Snow."

He shakes his head, taking a step towards me before thinking better of it. "Goodnight."


	16. Chapter 16

_**SIMON**_

In the seconds it takes me to catch my breath, Baz rolls onto his back, one arm cocked behind his head, his eyes glued steadfastly to the ceiling. He doesn't bother pretending to sleep this time, which is a small miracle in itself I guess.

But he doesn't look at me either. So, fuck miracles.

"Baz."

"Snow."

I think I might have started something, two weeks ago during that first night after our fight about Taylor felt like something bigger. I just couldn't stand the silence, the way he glanced up at me while chewing, his eyes resting on the tip of my nose as if the only way he could sit across from me was by not really looking at me.

And it had been good, really good. Like, self-combustion, dancing with flames, heaven and hell and the entire galaxy behind closed eyes good. Like freshly baked cherry scones on a Sunday afternoon good.

But then there he was again, a strained smile on his lips and his gaze hovering in the space between my nose and mouth.

"Baz."

"Aleister almighty, Snow, I'm trying to focus on regaining feeling in my legs. I can't exactly do that if you continue to speak."

Twisting, I drum my fingers along his stomach, taut muscles tensing underneath my insistent tap. "That good, huh?"

"Self-congratulation is the highest form of modesty."

I hum, inching closer to him now that he's not being mean or mute. "I think I've heard that somewhere." He huffs out a breath, the closest thing to a laugh I've heard in the last two weeks.

Crowley, two weeks. Of this, of not talking leading us right back here. Or of sharp little comments ending with his fangs grazing against my skin, my nails digging into his shoulder. And the apparent loss of feeling in his legs.

"You know," he says, jutting his chin down until it's nestled in my hair. "It might be criminal, how good you are at this."

Reaching over, I grab at his arm and pull until he's on his side, brushing my palm against the inside of his thigh. "How are those legs?" I murmur. "You feel them yet?"

"You..." his back arches as I wrap my hand around him, peeking up at him with a flush creeping up my cheeks. "...have outstanding endurance."

"I think I've heard that too."

He slips from the bed just as soon as we're done, mumbling something about a concerto despite the silver moonlight peeking through the curtain and the tick of his watch, counting down the night. And try as I might, I can't force my mind to quiet, can't help but wish that he'd come back. Just to talk to me. Just to be here. Merlin, I would take an argument at this point. But then it would be the same as all the others, just with a different name. It would start with how he hates the time I'm not at home, because it has to mean I'm with Stacey and her "far worse friend". And no matter how I promise that Taylor means nothing to me, and how those promises become swears and yells and growls from my increasingly hoarse throat, he never believes me. Doesn't believe that I can love him and only him.

And then he always, always, always goes silent. His face pinches and his jaw hardens and he just stops. Like a Cat Got Your Tongue spell all queued up and ready to go. And it won't be until I'm about to burst, until my magic's thick in the air and ready to attack that he strides over, his mouth on mine and his hands everywhere, our argument forgotten.

But never really forgotten, just stowed away until these few minutes of peace after we're both undone vanishes and he remembers that Stacy wants to go to breakfast together, or study at her place, or something, anything, and I'm too stubborn not to go.

So, I take each little moment and stretch them until I'm certain they'll break. And then a little more because I need them, despite how little sleep we're both getting and how tired I've been and the test or two I've failed because I'm too busy fighting or fucking to study.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"I know what you're doing," I mutter, just as his breath becomes deeper, more even. His mouth parts, a small snore escaping as he pushes in closer to me, as exhausted as I think any human would be after what's turned into a marathon sexcapade once I snuck back into bed. I wish I could muster up the energy to be angry with him (sex as a distraction. I'd be insulted by the sheer lack of creativity in that particular idea if it wasn't the only tool I could think of to save our relationship). I'm just as bad as he is, funneling away our problems long enough to kiss him stupid and make him forget.

Forget the way his expression darkens as soon as he notices I'm in the room, my arms crossed against my chest and my tongue dripping with poison.

Forget how defensive he gets without even realizing it, already prepared for a battle neither of us wants.

Forget how easy his laugh is when he's with anyone but me. And how I can't even begin to explain how we became this way so quickly but that I know it has to be my fault.

This is still the one thing I can do, the only thing reserved especially for me that isn't making him feel like shit, or like he needs to explain himself even though every fiber of my being calls for him to.

And while I know this can't last forever, it's been annoyingly effective.

...

"Okay," Bunce asks me hours later, her gaze darting over to where Simon sits, his smile pained as he tries to eavesdrop. "What's going on with you two?"

"What makes you think anything's 'going on'?" I rest back in the chair, arching an eyebrow up at her.

"Other than the fact that you look miserable and Simon looks like he hasn't slept in days?" Her eyes narrow into a squint, as shrewd as the day she was born I'm sure. "Even your hair looks off."

Ah, courtesy of the car ride over, where I'd gotten so incredibly irritated that I had to pull the car over and snog the self-righteous expression off his face. Or maybe this morning in the shower after I'd stumbled across a text in Simon's phone from the man quickly becoming the bane of my existence. He'd taken one glance at it and hadn't even bothered to respond, shoving me into the bathroom counter, his towel puddling around his ankles.

"We're fine." Bunce's eyes glide down to where my foot bounces angrily, over to Simon and his glazed expression. "Don't you have your own relationship to psychoanalyze?"

"No," she purrs, "because unlike some people who enjoy telling lies to concerned third parties, Micah and I actually are fine." Lifting her mug to her lips, she sips her tea with what can only be considered smug condescension. "So…?"

"So," I continue for her, "if I wanted to clue you in, I would have, Bunce."

She glares, flicking her straw in a quick circle. "I only ask," she says, each word falling like stone, "because I care, stupidly enough. But I'm more than willing to drop it."

"Wonderful." I bark back, pushing myself up from my chair.

She purses her lips, following after me with silent judgement radiating after me. "Micah," she calls, "how's the food coming along?"

"Almost done with the burgers," his voice floats over to us. Suddenly Simon's beside me, his tongue darting out to swipe along his bottom lip.

"Can I have two?" He cries eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. My stare darts over to him for a moment, to the glimmer in his eyes and hint of a smile on his mouth. And it's hard not to want to see that full blown grin, and even more to have it directed at me.

Micah jogs in from the kitchen, a smudge of red across his chin (hopefully ketchup, but one can't be too sure. I've used that excuse once or twice on one of my more careless days). "Sure thing," he smiles, his arm flexing as he stretches. "You want one too, Baz?"

"I'm sure Simon would be willing to share," I say casually, biting back a smirk as he whirls around incredulously.

"Excuse me?" He sputters. "If I share with you, my two burgers become a one burger, and then what am I supposed to do with that?"

"Give me that one too?" I offer with a raised eyebrow and a wink. He blinks, alternating between obvious surprise and barely contained joy. (What does it mean that a few kind words is all it takes to break out his sunshine smile?)

"But then what would I eat?" He whines, stepping close enough for me to ignore the suspicious looks Bunce tosses towards me.

"I'm sure Micah has some vegetables he could whip up for you?"

"That may be the meanest thing you've ever said to me."

Bunce snaps, drawing our attention over to her. "So, what? You two are just going to flirt now?" She asks, doing nothing to mask her disapproval. "After an entire morning of not talking?"

"We were talking," Simon shrugs, "just not like a ton, or...whatever."

"Right," she says, her mouth twitching into a frown. Her gaze trains on Simon, searching for something, I'm not sure what. "Let's just go eat."

To her credit, she doesn't say anything as we scroll through her cable, tugging the remote from hand to hand as Micah carts out different meals for what turns out to be a few very good hours.

Simon plunks down beside me, his thigh brushing against mine as he talks. He drags a french fry through ketchup, laughing as he holds his plate out of my reach.

"Get your own." He nudges me with his elbow, his face splitting into beam as I tug him closer.  
"But yours is better," I murmur, pretending we don't have a quietly disparaging audience. He blushes, rolling his eyes but shifting into the last few inches between us, his skin scorching against mine. "Anyway, I can't."

"I'm sure Micah can make you an extra rare burger."

"Sure," Micah drones, his arm perched around Bunce's shoulders and a plate balancing on his knee, "because God forbid someone else man the grill."

"It's more of a glorified pan and some ground beef from a month ago." Bunce simpers, slipping further down into his side.

Micah digs his nose into her cheek, making her squeak. "You have to take all the glamour out of it, Pen?"

"I hadn't realized there was any glamour in burger flipping."

Simon's head drops against the back of the chair, his smile lazy and his fingers tangling with mine. We listen to them talk, bicker really, and a familiar calm spreads through me. The type that comes from how things should be between Simon and I, how things were-and will be again.

"Aren't you hungry?" He asks some time later, giving my hand a squeeze as he glances down at his empty plate.

"Stacy actually invited me to a musical over by Broadway," I think back to Stacy's pleading, needling voice blaring through my phone, complaining about an extra ticket to some show about Peter Pan. "It should be starting soon, so I'll be off."

"You're actually hanging out with Stacy?" He asks, his body hardening. His thoughts are right there on his face, and Taylor's name lingers between us.

"Yeah, just the two of us," I say, watching the tension leak from him. No fight, not now, and not about what would have been two terrible hours with that insufferable asshole if I hadn't forced Stacy to swear that he wouldn't be anywhere near me. "It should be fun."

"As fun as all of this?" He runs his hand through his hair, leaving streaks of ketchup in his curls and a smear of salty oil on his chin. (Before I stand, I drag my mouth across the spot, sucking at the smooth patch of skin until he gasps, the both of us forgetting for the moment that this is Bunce's couch, in Bunce's apartment, with Bunce sucking her teeth across from us.)

"Absolutely not," I bury the ghost of a smile I feel coming on in the hollow of his neck, jumping away before I can lose myself in what has turned out to be an incredible day. "See you at home?"

"Sure, I'll even save you some dessert."

He surges forward, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, my stomach clenching at the sweet expression that passes over his face. (I'm sure Stacy wouldn't mind if I skipped out. I've never even been particularly interested in the flying perpetual child.) (Although, look at me, dating one of his brethren.) "Have fun, and tell Stace I say hi."

"Will do," I don't bother hiding my grin, shoving my aching fingers into my pocket so that they don't latch back onto him.

Aleister almighty, goddamn familial bonding.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"So, I don't want to kick you out," Penny nods over to the door, giggling as Micah's hands wander over her knee, "but we're kicking you out."

I finish the last of my brownie, Penny's mum's recipe, and flick the plate over to her, watching the paper sail through the air and land over by their feet. "But we were going to watch Goonies again."

"Nope," she shakes her head, a firm twitch of her chin. "Normally, I would refuse based on principle seeing as how we've seen that film an ungodly amount of times, but now I'm refusing because unfortunately Micah and I don't need a third wheel." I sniff and she disentangles herself from Micah long enough to stand and tug me up from the chair, her push unrelenting. "No pouting, Simon."

"You can't even see my face," I point out, "you happen to be behind me." I pout extra hard, just to spite her.

"Simon Snow, making the discoveries of the century." She opens the door, and judging from the thump of something distinctly foot shaped against my arse, I'm guessing she's not feeling particularly polite about literally kicking me out.

"I hate you."

"You can hate me from your flat." She spins me faster that she should be able to, planting her hands on my shoulder and leaning up onto her tiptoes, brushing a kiss against my forehead.

I hum, waving at her as I leave and doing my best to ignore the squeals coming from behind the door. Least I can do after a pretty weird day between me and Baz. And by pretty weird, I mean stupidly, wickedly, incredible. It was so good that I can't keep the skip from my step and I whistle better than I ever have.

I'm in such a good mood, with the heat of the setting sun warming the back of my neck and the lingering coolness of Baz's skin on mine, that I've got a smile ready on my face when someone calls my name.

"You look happy," Taylor notes, his head cocked to the side and his body blocking the door. My smile, suddenly strained with the effort it takes to keep it in place, wavers. "It does a man's ego good."

I reach for my key, sucking in a breath as I squeeze past him. "What are you doing here?"

"So much for that ego boost," he laughs, running a hand over his head. "And here I was thinking you'd be more excited to see me."

"And why's that?" I miss the lock, the key scraping against the metal and my shaking fingers doing a good job at being useless.

"Well, Stacy's got Baz for the evening, so I figured you'd be bored and need some company." My heart lurches at the sound of Baz's name, the thought of him finding out about this and ruining the first bit of hope that things are getting back to normal making me sick.

"Relax," I breathe. Today was a good day. Two weeks, a few arguments, and some other guy won't ruin me and Baz. "I was just going to get changed, maybe put a movie on." The door finally swings open, and he slides through, his grin cheeky.

"Perfect, I'll wait by the couch."

It takes me longer than it should to change, balling my jeans and flinging them into the corner with the rest of my dirty clothes. And then, even though my t-shirt dangles from the crook of my elbow, I still let it drop to the floor, rifling through Baz's dawers before I can stop myself.

His t-shirt stretches over my chest in the way that annoys him. Snow, I'll have to walk around naked if you get your way. And his sweatpants hang low on my hips, soft and worn with Watford emblazoned down the pant leg.

"Simon," Taylor calls, "got any beer?"

"There may be some in the fridge." I pad out of the bedroom, tugging the ends of my sleeves down until the curl around my fingers. His head peeks out of the kitchen, his smile mischievous. "You find some?"

"Yeah," he goes over to the couch, popping the top off of the bottle and settling in. Any thoughts of sitting next to him fly from my head, my eyes jumping to everywhere but him and what is now a very exposed torso. "Me being an idiot though, I got salsa all over my shirt." He points down to the sudden puddle of cloth at his feet.

"I didn't know we had salsa," I murmur, storming over and plucking it from the ground, Baz's voice screeching in my head. "I can put this through our washing machine?"

"That would be great." He says, his bottle perched on the arm of the chair. "And then you can come sit with me."

"I don't - maybe we shouldn't - this isn't a good -"

He scoffs, breezing past me and over to dryer, hopping up in one smooth motion. "Oh, come on Snow," he's mocking me, if the curious tilt of his head and the near perfect imitation of Baz's voice are any indication. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. "It's a beer and a couple of hours of polite conversation."

"But you're not all that polite."

He barks out a laugh, stealing his shirt from my grasp and banging around until the machine is whirring and the smell of detergent fills the air. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He bumps his chin back over in the direction of the television. "Still, I'm good for that beer."

He starts to walk, and I can't do anything but follow, back over to the couch where he somehow spreads himself out, so much larger than he can possibly be. I glance at the space he leaves me, just at the edge of his wiggling fingers. He rolls his eyes at the indecision dancing across my face. "Fine, Take A Chill Pill!"

Icy calm spreads through me, chasing away the panic squeezing its way through my chest. Blinking away the tears that water at the sudden sting in the air, his magic as electric as his personality, I grin for the first time since he's appeared. And it's easy.

"You usually have to magick people into hanging out with you?"

I bounce down onto the couch, and he peeks at me from the corner of his eye, passing me his half finished beer. "Only the stubborn ones."

"Mm," I shrug, taking a swig of the sweetly bitter amber liquid before handing it back. "Whatever, pick a movie already."

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

Stacy skips beside me, twirling to the rhythm of whatever showtune plays through her head. "Smile, Baz," she cries, taking my hand and spinning, as graceful as an alcoholic numpty. (Can shoot a football like a bullet, but ask her to dance and suddenly there's another layer of hell: one I somehow have to endure.)

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," I reply, a laugh in my voice just about to escape.

"And you didn't?" Joy leaks from her, from the smile that pulls painfully big and the shimmer in her eyes and the playbill curled in her excited grip. "Maybe you are heartless because how could you not love what we just saw?"

"I never said I didn't," I say conversationally, "I just don't plan on serenading the entirety of New York, or doing whatever it is you're doing." Squinting, I watch as she shuffles along, her shimmy coming across as a very elegant execution. "I suppose a very select few would call it dancing."

"Should have known a Grimm-Pitch would be too snooty to enjoy something as wonderful as Finding Neverland." She sniffs, smirking as I've been properly put in my place. I consider telling her about the soundtrack, stored safely on my phone and memorized in preparation for this outing. Or about the tears even I couldn't stop from shedding in those last few moments, but she looks so satisfied with her scolding that I let her be.

Instead, I drop her off at home, rolling my eyes as she flutters away, her voice carrying as she sings up the stairwell. And because I don't have nearly enough self-respect, I pick up where she's left off, murmuring the lyrics underneath my breath, letting the spark of contentment from this afternoon and then the evening with Stacy grow and grow until there's no room for anything else.

And I think of bringing it back to Simon, of twisting us around the living room until he's so dizzy he could vomit from his giggles and my kisses and giddiness so bubbly that it rises like champagne. I think of us flying without magic and believing in the good again.

It takes me fifteen minutes to get back to our flat, my chin down to protect from the bite of the late autumn air. It takes me fifteen minutes to build the idea up, that we'll go so past what our normal was. That we'll be so much better than that, and all it took was one good day.

Merlin, a really good day.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

Taylor leans into me, his shirt clenched in his hand and his expression carefully blank. "I don't know," he sighs, balling the warm fabric and bringing it to his nose again. "I still think my fabric softener smells better."

"No way," I laugh, taking it from him and inhaling deep. It smells sort of like Baz, fresh and clean before his cologne and his rosin and the rest of what makes him him can take hold. "This is the best thing I've ever smelled. Ever." He rests his head against the back of the wall, his chest shaking with a chuckle he doesn't let lose.

Tossing him his shirt, I smile. "Get dressed."

His hips shift, settling more firmly in the couch cushion. "Why should I?" He challenges, his fingers brushing against the back of my neck. I scooch forward until I'm hanging off the edge, trying not to squirm.

"No, stop playing around, you should really put your shirt back on."

His eyebrows furrow, and something devilish gleams in his gaze. "Uncomfortable?"

I shake my head, once, twice, three times. "No," I stammer, "but, um - " I can't think of a good reason and it pulls a smirk to his lips.

"And if I didn't?"

"Well then I'd be inclined to ask you to leave." Both my head and Taylor's snap up and around, to where Baz stands, his face red and his hands balled at his side.

"Baz," I breathe, falling off the chair and then standing just as quickly.

"Taylor," he nods, terrifying in his civility. "It's late, you should be on your way."

Taylor's one step ahead, his shirt tugged over his head and his shoes back on his feet. "Later, Si," he tosses over his shoulder, the door shutting behind him with what should be a slam.

It should be a slam.

But it closes with a whisper.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

It's unnecessarily grandiose to use an Open Sesame on the doors, and while I've always be skewed towards the resplendent, I don't today. I would have, if only to see Simon's face before I whisked him into my idiotically whimsical fantasy, but then there was a laugh that wasn't Simon's.

And then there was a man that wasn't me sitting beside him on the couch, shirtless (for a second, I can't feel. I can't breathe. I can't see save for the flash of red in front of my eyes).

And now we're alone. Simon's mouth hangs open, his chest heaving with each pant, his eyes panicked. And I stare back, thinking of just fifteen minutes ago, astounded by my own astronomical stupidity.

"Baz," Simon starts, his voice trembling. "It's not what you think."

I don't think, I won't. Instead, I stride forward and press my lips to his, in a kiss that seems more like a punishment. And I let the steady chant in the back of my head grow. (Two more weeks for another good day. I can wait two more weeks for another good day.)

But Simon has other plans, his hands balling on my chest, pushing. "No," he says, trying for firm but falling short.

"Don't," I sneer, my mouth back on his before he can get a word out, bruising and cruel. He steps back, his head shaking, his hands shaking, everything shaking.

"No," he says again, more fiercely this time. And my mind begins to scream.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"We had a good day," he murmurs, his eyes flashing with confusion. "It was, yes? A good day? I didn't make that up, did I?"

"He came over and we watched some TV."

"And you ruined it," he keeps talking, over me like I'm not there, "Merlin, Simon, you invited that man into my home -"

"Our home," I whisper. He stumbles, a crack in his manufactured calm.

"Our home," he amends, a kindness that I probably don't deserve. "And you let him sit on our couch, in our living room without his bloody clothes." His hands twist through his hair, his lips trapped between a sneer and a cry.

"No," I scramble forward, "Taylor being here, it doesn't mean anything, I swear. It was a good day, the best day, I promise."

"God. You've got to be fucking taking the piss. You have to because there's no other explanation for this." He coils like a snake about to strike, his mouth suddenly too full. "You know what, I'm going to bed.

"No," I shake my head, swallowing the urge to sob.

He stops, stiffens, turns. "No?"

"If we're doing this, we're doing it now."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes!" I cry, moving forward before thinking better of it. "I can't keep going on like this, not anymore."

His forehead crinkles. "Like what? You lying and sneaking around behind my back or me looking the fool again and again and again?"

"No, walking around on eggshells trying to convince you of something that should be obvious." I counter. "Crowley, living in some warzone because you've decided to be jealous for no reason."

"No reason," he scoffs, his words coated in something bitter. "Wake up, Simon. I'm allowed to have a problem with you spending all your time with someone so obviously into you."

"But I'm not into him!" I shout, my arms flopping at my side. "And even if he were, I would never, not ever, do anything to hurt you." He scoffs, his thoughts so obvious in those next few seconds, I'm surprised he hasn't said them outloud. "I wouldn't, not on purpose" I repeat quietly, "and you should know that, should know me enough to see that."

He doesn't reply, his expression opening and shutting in waves, wanting to let me in and keep me as far away as possible in equal measures. "Look, I've asked you this before," I say slowly, "and I won't, I can't, ask you this again. So please, just tell me. Do you trust me or not?"

"That's not the issue."

"Of course it is." I step forward, so close that he's within arm's reach. I think about that kiss, about how he was trying to protect us both just moments ago. Because this doesn't feel like a normal fight. And I hate it. "Do you trust me, Baz?"

"I trust you, I don't trust him!"

I shake my head, my hands trembling at my sides. "Wrong answer."

"You keep giving me these reasons, Simon. Reasons for me to doubt you, doubt myself." He cries, pulling at his hair. He'll have lost it all by the end of this conversation if he doesn't stop yanking. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say that you know that I love you, that I wouldn't ever want to be with anyone else despite the shit you've put me through my entire life, for some fucking reason. I must be a glutton for punishment." I need to stop, can feel myself nearing the edge. But now that I can't go off, a warning sign in the form of cataclysmic magic, there's nothing to stop my words. "But, I'm an idiot, right? Maybe it's true, because that's the only reason I could still be with you."

He's silent, and pale for the first time in months. "Baz," I say, cringing inside as tears prick at the back of my eyes. My stupid mouth, my stupid, stupid mouth.

"You should leave." He breathes.

"Baz, I didn't-"

"Simon," he implodes, all his anger spiraling in until I think his chest might collapse, "get out. Please."

This fight's about nothing. I would stop seeing Taylor in a heartbeat, would cut out the rest of the world if it meant having Baz. But I can't say that, not right now, when he's staring at me like he used to back at Watford. Like he wishes I was gone, that I never existed.

I must have been blind to never notice the pain behind all that hatred.

I walk woodenly over to where his jacket sits, grabbing it and jerking my arms in just so I'll have something to hold me together.

To keep me from falling apart.

"Baz," I try one last time, looking at him and hoping he can hear the panic in my voice.

"Just go," he says, and it spurs him into motion. He turns his back and walks to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

"Pen," Micah murmurs sleepily. His feet nudge my calf and it pulls a whimper from me. His toes are icicles, the coldest part of his body. "Someone's knocking."

I roll away from him, clinging tighter to my pillow. It smells of his cologne and I inhale deeply, shivering slightly. "Penny, the knocking," he moans, trying to cuddle with me again. I grope behind me wildly until I find his arm. And then I pinch him.

"If someone's knocking, you go answer it."

"But it's probably for you." He protests, and I groan, grasping blindly for sleep and slamming my hand down onto the mattress when it eludes me. "All my friends know not to come around at," there's rustling on his side, and then an irritated growl, "three o'clock in the morning."

"And mine don't?" I ask just as irritably, even though I know the answer. I throw him an angry look before shoving the covers away. "It's moments like this when I strongly dislike you." He sits up, handing me his shirt and kissing a spot between my shoulder blades.

"Please, Future Wife, you couldn't hate me even if you tried." His nose rubs into my skin, and I almost get back into bed. He chuckles silently, patting my back and jerking his chin into the spot behind my ear. "The door."

"I hate you," I repeat, standing and putting on his shirt as quickly as I can. I pause by the bedroom door, my fingers moving over the buttons deftly. "But, I don't necessarily hate you calling me that."

"Noted," he arches his arms behind his head, wearing a smirk as he watches me.

I turn away from him, wrapping my arms around myself as I go over to the door. My lips turn down into a frown as I prepare to send away whoever it is that thought it a good idea to just drop by this early…

…And stare bewildered at Simon, silent tears streaking down his cheeks. He gazes back at me horrified, clinging to the jacket around him like it's the only thing keeping him together.

Baz's jacket.

I leap forward and grab at his hands. "What's wrong, Simon?" I ask urgently, my eyes darting behind him, searching for Baz. "Where is he?"

That only seems to make him cry harder. "You always answer the door like this?" I glance down, fighting away the blush at the sight of my bare legs and Micah's shirt, which barely reaches the top of my thighs.

"Well, that doesn't seem to be the most pressing matter at the moment, does it?" I hiss, pulling the two ends closer together to cover any and all exposed skin. "Where. Is. Baz?"

"I've ruined everything." His voice cracks, and my lack of clothing is no longer an issue as he falls into me. I brace myself, letting him twine his arms around me and gingerly pulling him inside.

There are beads of sweat dotting my forehead by the time I get him to the couch, Simon's not exactly light, and he's nearly hysterical once I dump him down. "Simon," I try gently, giving his shoulder a soft shake. "Simon," I try again, a little less patiently. Micah peeks his head out, and his alarm must be mirrored on my face.

"You need help?"

I wave him away with a frown. There's only one thing I can think of to help, and it'll only make me feel guiltier if he's party to it. I wait until he's back in the room before sucking in a breath. "Simon!" I scream, rearing back my hand and sending it flying across his cheek. Pain explodes in my fingers, least of what I deserve, but it has the desired effect.

Simon's tears dry as he stares at me with stunned, wet eyes. "Did you just slap me?" I can just make out my handprint on his skin.

"Nothing else seemed to be working," I say sheepishly. "And it's not as if we've the time for sweet and coddling. Not when I don't know if all of this is because Baz is lying somewhere, a pile of ash. I'm not going to ask again Simon, where is he?"

Simon cards his hair, looking anywhere but at me. "He got home and Taylor was there and it was awful. And then we had this massive fight and he said he didn't trust me and then and I said some equally terrible things and he told me to leave." Fresh tears spring up again, and I cringe away.

I really don't want to have to hit him again.

"What did you say?" I wonder, and he drops his head into his hands. "Aleister Simon, what did you say?" A shudder rakes through his body, and I know I won't get anything else out of him. "Okay." I push away the lingering bits of sleep and surprise and confusion left fogging up my thoughts, forming a plan. "Okay, don't worry about a thing, Simon. All right? I'm going to go and see Baz, and everything will work itself out."

"You weren't there," a strangled sound comes from the back of his throat, a mix between a groan and a cry. "There's no working this out. There's no fixing this."

"You're being dramatic," I scoff, patting his back before getting up and going into the room. I slip into a pair of sweatpants and my sneakers, tucking in Micah's shirt and kissing his forehead. "I'll be right back," I murmur when he watches me with concerned eyes. "Can you – "

"Watch out for Simon?" He finishes for me. "I'm on it." I smile at him, and I wait to see if some of that initial, almost unbearable love has passed. Maybe dimmed. It hasn't. If anything, it's managed to grow. "It'll be good practice, huh?"

I wait for him to continue. "Practice for what?" I sigh when he gives me an impish smile, the way he does when he wants to frustrate me.

"Our own kids, one day."

If not for my wailing best friend and the sense of dread in the pit of my stomach when I think of that idiot Pitch, I could relish in the breath-taking joy his words give me. I can see them now, chubby-cheeked and brilliant. "One day," I agree, resting my forehead on his and giving myself one second to dream. "I've got to go."

I have to convince Simon to stay on the couch with Micah and the cups of tea I set in front of them. "It won't help."

"It won't hurt either," he protests weakly. "I don't know, I just want to know he's alright."

"And you will, after I go make sure he hasn't gone mental in your absence. I'll let you know when I see him."

He doesn't reply until I'm in the hallway, the door swinging shut behind me. "Penny?" He says, and his voice is so small and raw that I can feel a piece of my heart splintering away. "Do you really think everything will be okay?"

"Of course, Si. Why wouldn't it be?"

It isn't. I spend five minutes knocking before I remember that I constantly have the key to their apartment tucked away in my jacket.

"Basilton Grimm-Pitch, my knuckles are rubbed raw from all the knocking, you have more explaining to do than I have time." It's moments like this that I regret Baz's limitless source of income: his father. Because if he was like the rest of our age mates, I wouldn't have to spend ten minutes searching his ridiculously large flat. "Baz, please, come out and talk to me."

When I'm met with silence, I groan, slapping my hand to my forehead. Maybe it's the lack of sleep or the fact that I've been awake for the last fifteen minutes without caffeine, but I should have noticed that more than one thing was missing from the room. Baz may be gone, but so is his violin.

"Where do you think he might be?" I ask into my mobile, shifting my weight from side to side to chase away the cold. "I can't go around the entire city at this Godforsaken time. I'll end up kidnapped and on the nightly news."

Simon sniffles piteously, and I roll my eyes. "Sorry," he sighs, "um, if he took his violin, he'll want to be left alone so he can play by himself. Check his school."

"But won't it be locked up?" I hail the first taxi I've seen in the past twenty minute, touching my ring and welcoming the calm that washes over me. At least if the driver tries to murder me, I'll have a way to transfer my pent up energy.

"He keeps his wand in his violin case. He can get in anywhere," he sounds exhausted.

"Good. I'll find him, and you get some water. Maybe a good night's rest. You'll have to talk to him once I bring him home."

"I'm not…" his words trail off as he yawns, "…tired. You should have let me come with you."

I hum. "155 W 65th St. please." I say to the driver. To Simon, I say, "go to sleep." I don't leave any room for discussion in my voice, and he's too drained to argue with me anyway.

I stay on the phone with him until I get to Julliard, figuring it'll give him some comfort. Occasionally he murmurs something, but it's too soft for me to hear, and no part of me believes it's even for me.

"The door's unlocked," I mumble, standing in front of the very performance hall Simon brought me to earlier.

"Wait," he says, suddenly awake and alert, and I can feel his desperation like the rush of the tide, ebbing and flowing, taking on a life of it's own. "Can you - would you -"

"Anything Simon, just say it."

"Just tell him, that he's more important." He starts, his words breaking off as he sniffs. "That he's the most important person to me. Tell him, that I'll do whatever he wants, be whatever he wants...that I just need him to come home."

I push through the door carefully, trying my hardest to tread quietly. He's playing a mournful song, each painful note hovering in the air before disappearing beneath another. It's beautiful, in a tortured sort of way. The song at the end of a movie, the tune as a body floats out to sea.

Pain lances through my chest before I truly realize what it is, my body working it through before my mind has a chance.

It's a goodbye.

"Baz," I call, and it feels right to put an end to the sorrowful music. "It's me."

He's not onstage, but I still go there, taking the steps two at a time. "Let There Be Light!" My ring begins to glow, bright enough to light up the hall. It's warm to the touch, and I consider setting it on the ground, but my discomfort is momentary. And it'll be over faster the quicker I find him.

"Come on, Baz. It's late and I'm tired and I have a test in the morning." I twist, my eyes scanning the seats on the first level before going up to the second story. "At least let me know you haven't turned yourself to a pile of ash."

A cruel note rips through the air, and I flinch. Even now, he somehow is still an unendurable git. "Funny," I say wryly, already running to where the note came from. "But now," I slow at the warmth coming from the balcony's second row, "I'm less inclined to help you." I can just make out the glint of a fireball.

"What must I do to get a little alone time?" He asks, and my eyes narrow at the nothingness of his voice. No pain, no anger, no sadness, no emotion whatsoever.

"I'm sure if you asked nicely, I'd be more than willing to oblige." His back is to me, but I can see the flame more clearly the closer I get. I was wrong; it's not a ball, but a ribbon, dancing between his fingers, flying through the air from palm to palm.

"Can you leave me alone, please?"

"No," I say after a moment of contemplation. "Not when I have your boyfriend falling apart on my couch and you a second away from going up like flash paper."

"This doesn't concern you, Bunce." I keep moving closer, growing more and more anxious by the moment. He's being reckless with the fire, practically hurling it at himself the longer he sits there. "But I'm happy you're here. It'll make things easier, more expedient."

"Baz-"

"Tell Simon that I'll be back later today to collect my things. Make sure he's not there, it'll only hurt him. I've paid the first three months of rent, after that I'm not sure what he'll do, but at least I've given him time."

Baz's head tilts, his gaze zeroing in on my phone, still on, still the last little bit of control Simon has in this whole mess. I don't miss the way his eyes slide shut after the tiniest of clicks.

"He would do anything," I step around him, "he said as much. That he's willing to fix whatever's messed you two up so badly because he just needs you home."

"I don't care."

"He said you're the most important person in his life, and I know you feel the same way."

"Yes, well, maybe it's not enough anymore." His eyes drop down to his violin, searching for answers within the lacquered wood.

"You sound mad." Crouching down, I take his chin in my hand. "I know you and Simon have a flare for the dramatic, but don't you think this a bit excessive?"

"Bunce," he sneers, and even with his flame forgotten, I can still make out his face from the gleam of my now scalding ring. Pain flashes on his face, so sharp and visceral that I want to shield myself from it. "This isn't dramatics. We're over."

"God. What is it with you two? Is happiness such a foreign concept that you can't make it work on a different continent?"

He jerks back from me, a contemplative sparkle glinting in his eyes. "Yes, I'm finding more and more that bringing him here was a mistake. But it's too late to change anything now." He climbs to his feet. "Give Snow my message, please." He nods, turning to stride away.

I clamber up, sprinting after him. "He loves you, you absolute idiot. No matter what happened, that won't ever change. And nothing is worth ending it. Nothing!"

He stiffens, slows. But never turns back.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

Nothing. Not even the end of a good day. Of all the good days. Fuck.


	17. Chapter 17

_**SIMON**_

He's gone for two days. Two days where I don't know where he is, if he's even _alive_ , and he's left me with nothing to do but worry. Worry; and think.

Think about how the hell we got here, how if I hadn't invited him to get drinks everything would still be fine. Or if I'd just _listened_ to him when he asked me to stop being friends with Taylor, maybe I wouldn't spend sleepless nights in a half-empty bed.

But...no. Because it wasn't right, was it, what he asked? Just _deciding_ for me where we'll live, and how I'll live, God, how happy I'll be on any given day and who I let into my life...our lives...my life.

 _Crowley_ , I just need to see him. Everything will make sense then.

It has to.

I'm waiting for him when he finally comes back to the apartment. I know what Penny said, that he didn't want me there, that it would just make it harder, but it already is. This - the two days of silence and ignoring my calls and being away from him - is _hard_.

" _Give him some time,_ " Penny had suggested, offering me another tissue after I shredded the one in my hand. " _Let it blow over, and he'll realize how ridiculous he's being_."

But he didn't, not the morning after, or the morning after that. And I know what he would say, if we were actually speaking and he knew I hadn't left the flat in the forty-eight hours since I'd seen him. _Merlin, Snow, could you be anymore pathetic?_ Cocked eyebrow and everything.

It's stupid luck that I'm outside when he finally decides to make an appearance. He stops when he sees me, his jaw clenching and something close to surprise lighting in his eyes before he's guarded again.

"Baz," I push away from the wall. He pretends he hasn't heard me, brushing past me to put the key in the door. He walks stiffly over to the table, checks our mail before throwing it back down. " _Baz_!" Slamming the door behind me, I feel my magic swirling around us, daring him to look anywhere but at me.

He can't ignore me forever. I won't let him.

He sets his violin down. "You're supposed to be in class," he says gruffly, his gaze flicking to me before landing back on his hands.

"I skipped."

"You shouldn't have."

That's _it?_ "Well," I say, folding my arms across my chest, "I did."

He pinches at the bridge of his nose. "The only reason I'm here is because you aren't supposed to be."

"It's my apartment," I growl stubbornly, clenching my jaw. "I can be here if I want."

His lips curl into a cruel smile, as if I've said exactly what he thought I would. I hate that smile more than anything in this world. "Course it is. I've actually just come to move out my things. My advisor at Juilliard is looking for a dorm for me, but until then I'll stay in a hotel." I wait-for a name, an address, anything. They don't come, and I won't ask.

"No," I shake my head, stepping closer to him, "I meant that this is _our_ apartment. That we should be in together. I don't want to fight anymore."

"We're not fighting," he says, going into one of the closets and pulling out a suitcase. "We're breaking up."

"And if that's not what I want?" I follow him into the bedroom, getting more and more irritated as he begins to fold his clothes. He packs like this is any other day, like he's not removing himself from the life we've created for ourselves. Together.

"But it is," he doesn't glance up the first time I grab one of his shirts, crumple it in my fist and throw it to the floor. Or the second time. Or the third. But there's a flush moving up his throat and to the tips of his ears, and I can tell I'm getting to him. Good, I want him just as angry as I am. "You made your decision the second you decided Taylor was more important than our relationship."

"This isn't about Taylor and you know it," I snarl, wrenching his suitcase from the bed and sending everything spilling onto the floor. He stares at the mess, his eyebrows knitting as his expression morphs into a glower. "This about you always, _always_ , trying to control me. Move to New York, go to NYU, stop talking to my cousin, and now this too?"

"Control you? How is it controlling you when I said I would walk away from my fucking _dream_ to be with you?" His voice is a measured pit of hatred. His fury stings, rains down on me like acid until I feel myself withering. "Or when I begged you to stay?"

My knees buckle as I whisper, "I never asked you to do all of that."

"Fucking phenomenal," he scowls, clapping his hands together. "What an idiot I've been, then."

"You don't get it. It never felt like I had any choice. It didn't matter that you offered all those things because we both knew how it would end before you ever spoke. Contrary to popular belief, _I_ could never hurt you."

"And I could?" He spits back, swallowing thickly. His fangs poke into his lips, so sharp that they cut him. I'm not sure if he notices. "Hurt you?"

"What do you think this is?" I'm shouting before I remember what this is supposed to be. Me, convincing him to stay. Us, getting back on track. Not this derailed train, taking us both over a cliff.

"Well then go," he shoots back, "and this moronic argument will be over and I won't be able to _torment_ you anymore." He goes to pick up his suitcase, but I'm tired of him. I want to move past this part, the constant dull ache in the pit of my stomach and tears screaming to be shed, and just make up already.

He steps around me, but I press my hand to his chest. "You're not leaving until we talk."

"The problem is, I have nothing more to say to you." He shoves me away, a threat coating his words.

"Why are you being like this?" I fume, and this time _I_ shove _him_. He jolts back, smacking my hands away.

"Get out of my way," he warns.

"Not until you tell me what the fuck you did with my boyfriend." A low growl, another shove. "Because you _can't_ be him. He wouldn't cut me out. He wouldn't be so _mean_. He wouldn't – wouldn't be –"

"Spit it out, Snow."

"So evil!" I cry. He doesn't give me a chance to apologize, and I'd really like to as soon as it's out. Instead, he pushes me back and away from him, so hard that it sends me stumbling over his suitcase and sprawled on the floor with a smarting tailbone.

"Fuck off."

I try to calm down, to remind myself to relax, that I _love_ him. But there's magic mixing with adrenaline mixing with forty-eight hours of pain, and I can't think straight. I can't see straight. It's all just red and his cold smirk, and I'm barreling forward and into him before I can stop myself.

He gasps, my momentum throwing us back to the floor and knocking the breath from my chest. His clutches at my waist and we both blink wide-eyed at each other, him shocked and me trying to understand how we got here, my fist inches from his face and the last shred of my self control holding it back. "Baz, I –"

"Anathema," he murmurs.

My forehead crinkles. "That's not - "

"S-shut up," he whispers, twisting us so that my stomach churns violently as my back hits the floor. "Evil?" He mutters, and his eyes flash dangerously. I almost can't hear him over the rush of blood in my ears, the magic tingling underneath my fingertips. His fangs glint in the light, and a part of me thinks I should be scared but can't muster it. "The villain, the bad guy," there's a tremor in his voice, "if everyone seems to think that way, it must be true."

"No," I whisper, brushing his cheek. He flinches from my touch, and the hurt is gone. He's the Baz from before we were a _we_ , drowning in his loathing and taking me down with him. "Baz, I didn't mean it."

"You're right to want someone else. Probably the only sane decision you've ever made," he thrusts away from me and his disgust the last straw. Suddenly I'm crying, harder than I've ever cried before. And I hate him too, just a little. Because I've never felt like this before, as if there's something piercing my chest, and all I want is for it to _stop_.

"Baz –"

"If you don't plan on leaving, then I'll go." He goes around the room, snatching at his clothes and tossing them into the suitcase. He doesn't look back at me, but I don't know what I would have done if he did. "Goodbye, Snow."

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

I split my time between Simon and Baz as the weeks go by. It's…disorienting. I spent more nights than I can count on their couch, trying to cox Simon to eat, to drink water, to shrug off the afghan Micah's grandmum sewed. Nothing worked, and soon he's taking up residence on my and Micah's couch. The longer he and Baz stay apart, the more of him I feel I'm losing. I don't know how to be of use to him when he's like this, so drawn into himself, so hopeless, so depressed.

Stacy tries to help, and at least this whole mess has the slight benefit of showing that she does care, in her own special way.

"What do you usually do when he gets like this?" Stacy asks quietly from behind the bedroom door, taking the glass of water I offer her and sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"He hasn't been this down in ages, not since everything that happened with the Insidious Humdrum and the Mage." She nods, and I wonder absently if Simon was the one who told her about that day, or if she heard about it through the grapevine like the rest of the magickal world. "And usually, Baz was the only one who could help him."

"So much for that plan."

"I just don't understand _why_ they're fighting like this. Neither of them is too stubborn to admit that they need the other, and yet, Simon is seconds away from dehydrating and I haven't been able to sit in my living room for the past week."

"Maybe we could, like, kidnap him or something?" She suggests. "Take him somewhere fun. Maybe an amusement park like Disney or Hersheypark, try to get his mind off of everything." We both peek around the side of the door, to where Simon sleeps fitfully. After a few seconds, his eyes open slowly, and he just lays there, staring at the wall as new tears roll down his cheeks.

"I don't see that happening anywhere in the near future," I mumble, sinking down the wall beside her and resting my chin on my knees. "I'd say we just wait it out, but I have no frame of reference for how long it takes a Simon Snow broken heart to mend."

She chews on her lips, thinking. And in the quiet, I realize what's missing. Simon.

I bolt up from the floor, straining my ears for the sound of a sob, a sniffle, anything. What I get is a surprised squeak.

"Oh," he gasps, hunching forward and making himself smaller than I've ever seen him. His gaze is pinned to Baz, wide and startled and terrified as Baz stares back at him. If Simon is nothing but emotion, then Baz is _nothing_. He's unyielding rock, devoid of anything but a begrudging annoyance.

With the both of them in front of me for the first time in a days, it hurts to see how terrible they look. Simon's clothes hang loosely from his body, and his eyes are nearly swollen shut, red and puffy from his tears. But worse than that, he holds himself like he's about to be attack, trying to protect himself from some phantom pain that only he can see.

And then there's Baz. Practically translucent, he's pale and washed out in front of the mid-afternoon light. He seems just as exhausted as Simon, dark bags blooming underneath his eyes and a weary feel to him, but he holds himself as straight as his body will allow. There's something…empty about him, as if all the love and happiness of the last three years has been leached away, leaving him hollow.

They're both too idiotic to see that they won't last much longer like this.

"You plan this?" Stacy whispers furtively, looking over at me as if I've been lobotomized. "Because if so, you're not nearly as smart as I thought you were."

"No," I say pointedly, even though embarrassingly enough, I had had the idea before.

It had gone as terribly as this incredibly awkward situation now, if not worse. They just stared at one another, Baz acting like a caged dog and Simon alternating between tears and stony glares. When I finally shooed Baz away, Simon had curled into a ball on the couch, raw, agonizing whimpers coming from underneath his blanket until I'd put him out of his misery with a _**Sweet Dreams!**_ spell that sent him away into oblivion. And even with the drain it was on my magic, even with how much of myself I'd put into trying to take away even an ounce of his pain, he still cried in his sleep, grasping for someone that wasn't there and moaning when he realized it.

That time, it didn't take too long to find Baz. He hadn't left the hallway, just sitting there with a lighter in his hand for the first time in years. I tried to get him up, but he wouldn't budge, just staring off into the distance with the flame from his light casting a glow on his face. With Simon dead to the world, I sat there next to him and waited. For him to speak, for him to break, for a spark to catch; I don't know, I just knew I wouldn't let him go through it alone.

So, I learned my lesson. If, no _when_ , Simon and Baz decide to talk, it'll be because it's best for _them_ , not because _I_ need them to get back together.

Even though I do.

"I didn't know you would be here, Snow." Baz says, his arms stuck stiffly to his side. "Apologies."

"No," Simon shakes his head, dirty curls swinging onto his forehead. "Um – it's all right. You can – if you want – stay," he blunders on, so obviously eager that I'm astonished Baz doesn't melt instantaneously. "Please."

"I didn't plan to spend much time, actually," sometime in the last week, he's gone past anger to formal. I'm not sure if it's progress or if I should be more worried. "I just wanted to tell Bunce that she can stop calling now." With great effort, he tears his eyes from Simon, arching an eyebrow up at me. "Stephanie's allowed me to sleep on her couch, but there aren't any free dorms at uni, and I don't want to be an imposition, so I guess I'll stay at a hotel."

"Baz," I groan, "that nearly bankrupted you before, and I doubt your father would be willing to bankroll that again." Trailing a hand over Simon's shoulder, I step between them. I'm almost positive that Simon hasn't taken a breath in the last three minutes. "Simon's going to be staying with Micah and I, you can move back home."

"It's too big for one person," he all but snaps, glaring at me. "I suppose I can just sell it."

"Or I can move in with you?" We all whirl around to stare at Stacy, surprised to find that she's still here. "What?" She asks, shrugging. "I live close enough that my parents won't let me dorm, and it really sucks always being around him. I usually end up crashing at the library or at Taylor's," she trails off, noticing as the temperature cools ten degrees at the name of her sidekick. "This way, you won't live alone and I get New York real estate on a college budget."

"I don't think it's the best idea," Baz says slowly, managing diplomatic. "Bourgeoning friendship aside, our families still abhor one another and I barely know you."

Stacy purses her lips, studying him as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Well, all you need to know is that I'm an early riser, pretty neat, and always go to _his_ place when we leave the bar. I'm a good roommate, I won't ever steal your food, and anyway, the way you two are going, someone needs to make sure you don't keel over and die."

I flick her a warning glance.

"Someone needed to say it," she hisses. "I'll be moved in by the end of the week. Leave a key under the mat, kay?" She flounces past us, brushing a kiss to Simon's forehead before letting herself out.

"Well, that's one problem solved," I clap, startling the both of them. "Now, unless you plan on staying for dinner Baz, I suggest you go help Stacy move in before she makes a complete mess of your apartment."

Simon gets to his feet, shaking slightly as he pouts. "Are you? Staying, I mean?"

Baz swallows harshly, his chin trembling with the effort it takes to keep from replying. He jerks his head down, gaze trained to the floor, and turns, walking out as quickly as he can.

"Right," Simon breathes, his words warbled with tears, "of course." I'm behind him in an instant, wrapping my arms around his waist and catching him as he wilts.

"Don't cry, Simon," I plead, letting him drop his face into my neck and wet the collar of my shirt with his sobs. "Please don't cry."

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

I don't sleep anymore, not really. It's worse than fifth year, when constantly craving Simon and my next meal could keep me up for hours. It's worse than that damned coffin and the nightmares it brought on.

At first, I think it's because I've forgotten how to sleep alone. Simon's breath has always been a constant in my life, even before we got rid of the ten feet of space between our beds. But then, after waking up gasping for the seventh night in a row, I realize Simon not only lulled me to sleep, but he kept the nightmares at bay.

In the end, I just add it to the things I can't do anymore. I can't turn on the TV without remembering how he used to cuddle against me. Merlin forbid I roll onto his side of the bed, now cool and smooth to the touch as if it'd always been empty. I don't linger in the bathroom anymore, finding myself _missing_ the way he used to follow me in, an endless stream of his thoughts pouring out of his mouth and his legs swinging even as I begged for privacy. I can't even look in the mirror anymore, not when I know where his lips would be, not when I can still feel his tail around my ankle and his wings ghosting against my cheek, and his laughter on my stomach. Not when that damned tattoo is a reminder of everything I've lost.

"You scream in your sleep," Stacy pads into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes. My focus flicks away from my newspaper, over to where she rummages through the refrigerator, looking annoyed. "It's like something from a Stephen King novel."

"What happened to not eating my food?" I sneer. She fiddles with the strap of her tank top, sitting down beside me and twisting on the stool. (She wears less and less every day to the kitchen. I'm starting to suspect that she realizes our next-door neighbor Quentin can see her through the curtains. Probably the reason she objects to me closing them.)

"I'm not, but would it be so bad if I did? Not only do you not touch your own groceries, but I don't think you've made a dent in that handy little blood aisle you have in the freezer."

"I don't think that's any of your business." I go back to reading, my lips twitching down into a scowl when she bends the corner of the page.

"Part of the deal for me living here rent free - thanks for that by the way - is so that you don't die. The last time I checked, a vampire needs to drink blood to stay alive."

"Have you never heard of small talk?"

"Sure I have, I've just never been any good at it." She cocks her head to the side, scrutinizing me with shrewd eyes. "Simon told me you've got a bit of a suicidal streak. Should I be concerned?"

"That sure is a personal question for someone I've known in less time than it took to cure you of your many STDs."

"You're grouchy in the morning." I think maybe I got my sneer from the Grimm side of the family, because she gives as good as she gets. "Maybe I should let you light yourself on fire, out of spite."

"I'm trying to read."

She's silent for a few wonderful seconds. "Maybe if I made you a nice pasta marinara with it, the blood? Or made you a nice extra bloody Mary with it, make it a little more appetizing?"

"That sounds revolting," I scowl, "it has nothing to do with the…taste," I say with an eye-roll. "I'm just not hungry."

"Right. You sound like my mom when she gets back on her South Beach diet. And then she seems surprised when I get annoyed after she pigs out on all my Halloween candy. And if it's not completely clear, you're my mother in this simile, and I'd rather not be the mini Snickers bar that you bite into."

"Just drop it," I slam the paper onto the table and shove away from the counter, stalking away from her. "And don't worry, I'm not a fan of the flavor bitch."

"Weak," she jeers.

It takes ten minutes of pacing before I can leave my room, my hands cutting a path through my hair over and over until I can inhale without feeling like I'm suffocating. I don't know how to tell her that I did try to feed, the first week after Simon…left (breathe Baz, breathe). I took one of the bags he'd left and gulped it down. And it was like fire scorching through me. It tasted like him, it smelt like him, it was like having him inside of me, twisting around my organs, squeezing the life from me. I doubled over, vomiting until I was empty again (that's all I am lately. Empty) and then I cried.

Now I can't look into the fridge without feeling as if I'm dying. And I don't have the patience to put myself back together each time something Simon-related guts me. So, I grab the occasional squirrel to keep from fainting, and I try to act as if I'm not as depleted as I feel.

"Baz," Stephanie throws the door open to the apartment (Stacy almost never locks it, I'm sure for Quentin's benefit) and breezes in. "Penny said I should check on you and Stacy to make sure you don't murder one another."

"Since when did you and Bunce become best friends?" I grumble.

"Around the time you self-destructed," she answers smoothly. "Good morning, Stacy."

"Morning, Steph. Coffee?"

"Don't mind if I do," Stephanie walks over to sit beside Stacy, and they share a friendly smile.

"I suppose a more _appropriate_ question would be when the hell did you two became friends?"

"Around the time when I came over and you wouldn't speak?" Steph replies sheepishly. "We made some hot chocolate and had a really nice conversation. Did you know that Stacy listens to classical music when she practices?"

"Didn't know, don't care."

Stacy leans against Stephanie, narrowing her eyes at me. "He's grouchy in the morning," she informs Steph helpfully.

"I've noticed," Steph gives me a sweet smile, "you got any sweetener?"

"Top shelf over the sink."

I gather my things, reaching for my violin last and going to the door. "I'm leaving, but please, make yourself at home." I say acerbically.

"No," Steph hops off the counter, "I'll come with you. I've missed like thirty violin lessons."

I know what they're doing (subtly is not a skill either woman possess), but snapping at Stephanie feels a little like kicking a puppy, and considering the way Simon looks at me lately, I don't think I could handle hurting her as well. "Come on then, I've called for car. Let's go." I ignore the triumphant high-five Stephanie and Stacy share. It's hardly a victory.

I've already lost the war.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

The nightmares started up again a month into my breakup. I didn't even realize they were happening until Penny came running out her room and shook me away, trembling.

 _ **...**_

"Simon," she was sweating, her arms wrapped around herself, "you were having a bad dream."

My heart raced, and for the first time in a long time, my hand searched for my sword. I panicked when I couldn't find it, and Penny blinked, gasping. "Simon, relax."

"How could you tell? That I was having a bad dream?"

"Micah woke up vomiting. And it felt like I'd been buried in a vat of salt. And then there's this," she gestured around the room, and my stomach sank as I eyed the destruction I caused. Shattered glass, a flipped table, shredded papers everywhere. It was like a hurricane passed through here. Of course I did this.

" _Crowley_ , Penny, I'm sorry." I pulled my knees into my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. That way I wouldn't hurt anyone. Well, anyone but me. "I didn't know I was doing all this."

Penny looked away guiltily, fidgeting with her ring. "That's because I might have been using a couple _**Inside The Box!**_ spells on you the last few weeks. The memories and the dreams are both somewhere you can't find it, somewhere deep inside you subconscious."

"Probably for the best," I sighed wearily. "If it made this much of a mess."

"Do you think anything will help?" She asked, touching my knee. "I could sleep out here with you?"

"No," I shook my head, shoving back the bits of my magic that still hovered just under my skin, "you can't keep doing this. Taking care of me. You're getting _married_ , Penny. You can't always be there for me."

"But I want to be," she replied quietly, and when she wrapped herself around me, I clung to her. Who knew how many more nights I would get with my best friend by my side.

"Go to bed. I'll try not to destroy anything again."

"I don't believe that for a second." Brushing my hair from my forehead, she sighed before gently detangling herself from me. "But I'll put you to work cleaning in the morning, don't worry."

 _ **...**_

The nightmares didn't get any better after that, and a couple nights later, I stop her from making me forget. I need them, they're as close as I can get to Baz, and for now they make everything else worth it.

Most of the time, someone's got him. Sometimes it's the Mage, and I have to make the same decision over and over.

" _Simon," he murmurs, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth and his betrayal choking me, "my heir."_

 _"I'm sorry," I whisper, pressing my hand to the wound in his chest, my magic making everything around us hazy. "But you were going to hurt him. Where is he? Where is Baz?"_

 _The Mage watches me with unsteady eyes, and his hand trails blood along my arm. "The Pitch boy will destroy you," he howls, "but not before you destroy him."_

 _"No," I cry, horrified. "I wouldn't, not ever."_

 _"Of course you will," the life draining out of him, no matter how hard I try to keep him together. Keep him alive. "You destroyed everything else."_

The TV's smashed when I wake up. I'm going to need a job if I keep wrecking Penny and Micah's things.

Sometimes it's the Insidious Humdrum. I know it's him the second I drift off, the sucking feeling in the air nearly collapsing my chest.

" _Baz," I call, whirling around, trying to find him. He was just right next to me, wasn't he? I can still feel the coolness of his hands in mine, the pressure of his lips on my neck, the rush of happiness in my chest when he laughs. And now he's gone. "Baz!"_

 _"He's gone," the air's searing, burning away all the oxygen. Every inhale is painful, but even worse is the mocking voice behind me._

 _"You can't be here," I stammer, staring wide-eyed at the me from over ten years ago. "I got rid of you."_

 _"Figures you did even that wrong," the red ball whizzes towards me, landing in front of me like a bomb and sending me flying back._

 _"What have you done with Baz?"_

 _"Baz?" His nose crinkles and he shrugs. "He's mean, I don't like him anymore. But I didn't do anything."_

 _"Yes, you did." I scream. "He was right here, safe, with me. You took him."_

 _"He left." The Insidious Humdrum laughs, skipping over to me and taking back his ball. "He didn't like you anymore either. Now it's just you and me."_

 _"No," I shout, willing my sword to me. "You're lying."_

 _"Why would he want to be with you? You're no good at anything. Not much to look out. You ruin everything." He tosses the ball back to me, and shrapnel courses through my skin. I wrench forward, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out. "You made me. You couldn't do more harm than you already have." Suddenly, he's standing over me, the ball dangling from the tips of his finger. "I'm really doing him a favor, ending you."_

The ball against my face jolts me awake. I can make out Penny's soothing tone as she tries to comfort Micah. This is the third night in a row he's been sick.

I start sleeping out by the stairwell after that one, shivering and depressed, but at least Micah and Penny can sleep through the night again.

The ones that hurt the most though, the ones that pull me out screaming, are the ones where there isn't a threat in sight.

 _I'm standing in the middle of the street, and I_ need _to find Baz. I can feel it like a dull ache in my bones. And when I finally catch sight of him, it's instant relief. He's smiling, and it's so beautiful that it pushes away all the fighting and agony of the past few weeks._

 _"Baz," I call, waving to him excitedly. He turns, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment as his eyes scan for who's said his name. I start running when his gaze passes right over me, overlooking the confusion on his face. Stopping in front of him, I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze. And he feels just like I remember, strong and unyielding and mine._

 _His hair is long again, and I burrow my nose through it, inhaling deeply. God, I missed this. I pull back, grinning. "Look, I'm sorry for everything I said. I was dumb and I didn't think and I love you. Only you."_

 _Baz blinks at me, his confusion deepening. "I'm sorry," he pushes my arms away, "I think you've got the wrong person."_

 _And just like that, everything's wrong. The people walking past eye me, whispering underneath their breath with vicious smiles, mocking me. "Baz," I squeak, "it's me. Simon. Simon Snow?"_

 _He shakes his head, taking a step back and into the man beside him. "I'm not sure how you know my name, but I need you to leave me alone." He wraps an arm around the man's waist, shooting me one last annoyed glance before sidestepping me._

 _And finally I get it, what my dreams have been trying to say. I sink down to the concrete, watching as Baz disappears into a sea of people, leaning over and pressing a kiss to the man's cheek. He looks so happy._

 _Happier than he ever was with me._

 _Maybe he's better off now. I've spent the first nineteen years of my life destroying more than I helped, why would this be any different?_

"Just breathe, Simon. It's going to be okay _."_ _I look around, trying to place the voice, the words sending an instant calm through my mind. I close my eyes and let it wash over me, letting it chase away the fear._

But Baz…

"Simon _," the voice sighs, fluttery and light, "_ you're okay _."_

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

I don't think Penelope meant for me to hear her complaints, but she had to do something with her frustration. And I was eavesdropping when she spoke to Stacy and Stephanie.

 _ **...**_

"Micah's not sleeping, I think he's going to move out for a bit." She ran her hands through her hair. "I can't leave Simon, but the apartment's decimated and Micah can't get through any of his work the way we're going."

"We could switch?" Stacy offered. "Baz doesn't sleep. Last night, I went to get a glass of water, and he was bent over the table, doing schoolwork. At four o'clock in the morning. Apparently he talked to my dad, so now not only does he have a full course load at Juilliard, but he's finishing his economics degree at NYU at the same time."

Stephanie frowned. "Can he do that?"

"Well, he can. By not sleeping, eating, or taking care of himself at all. Minus all that, he seems to be managing."

"He also got a piano," Stephanie admitted contritely, shrinking when they both whip around to stare at her. "He made me swear not to say anything, it's hidden in the basement of my building. I thought that maybe a new hobby would help him get through this thing with Simon. But every few second he's not in class or doing work, he's bent over the keys."

(That's the last time I trust Steph with a secret.)

"He's actually gotten pretty good at the _Dance of the Mirlitons_ number. It took me a couple of weeks to get it down. He mastered it in three days."

"They're imploding, and I can't actually be of any help because I'm knackered." Penelope groaned, falling back and pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Would it be alright if I took a quick nap?" She asked, yawning. "I know we're giving this friendship thing a go, but I'm so exhausted that I can barely think, let alone process anything you're saying."

"Sure," Stacy patted her knee. "I think I'll go hide Baz's violin while you sleep. Maybe then I won't have to listen to Locatelli's _Caprice_ for the fifth time." She stands, glowering. "The fact that I know what Locatelli's _Caprice_ is disturbs me more than anything has, ever. And my brother was born with an extra pinky."

 _ **...**_

I left before Stacy could whine some more (her voice grates, especially with my severe exhaustion) and that's how I find myself in front of Micah and Penelope's flat. I go to knock, a whimper coming from the empty stairwell making me stop. I walk slowly over to it, some of the ice in my chest chipping away as I see Simon curl into himself, moaning.

"Baz," he sighs, his face contorting with pain. "Baz, _please_." I'm moving before I have the chance to think, lowering myself to the ground and stroking my hands through the blue-blonde curls that peek out.

"Just breathe, Simon. It's going to be okay." I mutter, and it feels so right having him there, like a sunrise after eons of darkness.

For a moment, he relaxes, unfurling slightly so I can see all of him. God, he looks terrible: skinny and trembling and pale. I pull him to me as gently as I can, until his forehead is on my knee and I can hold his hand.

"But Baz…" he murmurs. I press my nose to his forehead, closing my eyes. (What sort of masochism is this? My drug of choice right in front of me, and I can't do anything about it.)

"Simon, you're okay." I exhale, and he shudders. I can't remember the last time I was warm. "I love you."

He doesn't wake the first few times I find him lying on the secluded block of cement leading to the stairs, not even when I begin casting spells to shield us, but he also doesn't leak magic, so I consider it a win. The first time he does actually awaken, I've nodded off to sleep. When I come to, he's trembling so fiercely I'm certain he's dying.

I'm still holding his hand. I'm not sure who will let go first. "Why – what're – what does this _mean_?" The idiot's seconds away from hyperventilating, and I slide away from the hope in his voice.

"That Bunce and the fiancée needed a decent night's rest," I want to die. In that moment, I think I could. He withers, receding back into a shell I didn't realize he had. I leave before he can say another word, and I don't think he would have said anything anyway. (I couldn't stay longer any how, not with him looking at me like I've just ripped his heart from his chest)

That's the last time I pull him into me, I think that did more harm than good. And I leave before he can wake up and look at me with those exceptionally ordinary eyes, asking me without words why I'm doing this. (The bastard. Never been the best speaker so he got around it like only Simon Snow could.) But I can sleep when I sit next to him, and he stops crying as much. At least at night. I don't realize how common an occurrence this thing between Simon and I becomes until I see an extra blanket waiting for me.

"Why do this?" Penelope asks one night, wrapping a cardigan around her shoulders. "Why not just apologize and get back together? It's what you want, what the both of you want, anyone can see that."

"No," I disagree, taking my place beside him and giving up the fight with my fatigue. "I just want him to be happy. And once he realizes that he doesn't need me for that, he will be."

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

Sometimes he's sleeping when I come outside, equipped with tea and a pillow. Sometimes he just watches Simon with that lighter out.

No matter how hard I wish it, I don't think they'll be able to _solve_ this.

I don't know what I'll do if they don't.


	18. Chapter 18

_**SIMON**_

Sunlight comes pouring into the room and I try not to groan, twisting onto my stomach and burrowing my face into the pillow. At some point last night someone carried me inside. I wish they'd stopped doing that. I haven't hurt Penny or Micah in two weeks now: and I'd like to keep the streak going.

"Penny," I growl, "it's too early."

"It's one o'clock," she snaps my blanket away from me, and I shiver. Micah refuses to turn on the heat - something about cutting costs - and I'm not used to the early November chill just yet. "And I've had just about enough of this."

"Sleep?"

"The _moping_ , Simon. When was the last time you actually went to class?" I frown, thinking it over. Maybe…two Fridays ago?

"Stacy's been bringing me my work." I say defensively, shrugging on my shirt. It's stiff and browning slightly. When was the last time I did laundry?

"And have you actually been doing it?" She asks testily, folding her arms across her chest. "Or have I been slaving over physics assignments and humanities papers so that you don't fail out?"

"I'm guessing the second?" I ask, dropping my head so she won't see me blush.

She plops down beside me, her nose wrinkling. I bring my arms into my side, hoping that'll pull the smell back to me. "You haven't been taking care of yourself, and I'm putting my foot down. I don't even remember that last time you left the apartment, can you?" I open my mouth, and she stops me with a hand to the face. "And I don't mean to sleep in the glacial cold, which I'd rather you quit before you freeze to death."

"I don't know," I reply softly.

"And when was the last time you saw someone other than me, or Stacy, or Micah? Or spent some time with your new uni friends?"

"Can't we sort this all our later, Penny?" I snatch the blanket away from her and hug it to my body, trying to get warm.

"No," she says firmly, "because you've seemed to forgotten that the world does not revolve around certain relationships." My shoulders slump with relief. While the sound of Baz's name no longer sends me into a fit, I still feel my stomach sink whenever anyone mentions him. "And since coddling hasn't seemed to work, I'm offering an alternative. Of the _ultimatum_ variety. We're going outside, and we're going to smell the roses and I'm going to prove to you that you can survive or you'll have to find somewhere new to stay."

"I don't _feel_ like surviving," I throw myself to the floor, my wings breaking my fall. "I feel like sleeping for the next ten years."

"You've slept enough. And you're too skinny, you need some scones and full fat lattes immediately."

My stomach rumbles noisily at the mention of scones. _Traitor_. "Penny – "

She ignores me. " _ **Clean As A Whistle!"**_ The air grows heavy with her magic and I don't have to hold my breath anymore. Which is good, I guess. I haven't brushed my teeth in a while, it wasn't exactly pleasant. " _ **Fit As A Fiddle!**_ " And, begrudgingly, I don't feel tired anymore. I've got more energy than I know what to do with, and for the first time, I don't think I could go to sleep even if I wanted to.

"Waste of magic," I give my wings an experimental flutter. It's _uncomfortable;_ I haven't used them in too long.

"Yes, well, a little sacrifice and a lot of tough love go a long way. My wedding is in little over a month, and I need my man of honor on the ball, not spiraling into a depression."

"I'm not _spiraling_ ," I protest.

"You are, and I won't have anymore of it." She points to my shoes. "I've got the whole day arranged. First, we're going to go to NYU and make sure you haven't failed out yet. And then we're heading to Central Park for some ice-skating, and finally we'll get dinner."

"I-"

"Unless the next words out of your mouth are "thank you Penny for planning such a wonderful day!"- I don't want to hear it. You're clean for the first time in weeks and you're not crying, so I consider this a win. Let's go." She walks decisively over to the door, glaring back at me when I don't follow. "Simon."

"Fine," I grumble, running up behind her. And then running back to get a jacket. It's _cold_ outside. Has it always been this cold? "But there'll definitely be scones?"

Penny beams at me, throwing an arm up and ruffling my hair. "I thought you would never ask."

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"No work today," Steph plants her hands on her hips and glares at me. I glance up at her blearily, blinking a few times to try and sharpen the room. When that doesn't work, I stumble over to the coffee machine and pour another cup.

"We've done this dance the last three days, Steph. You refuse to let me get anything done for all of five minutes, then get distracted, and then leave, only to return the next morning."

Steph rolls her eyes, blowing at the few pieces of blonde hair that fall into her face. "Well, not today. I've cleared my schedule and told your various teachers that you won't be in today."

I sneer up at her, finding her blonde optimism incredibly annoying. "You shouldn't have done that."

"No use crying over spilt milk," she plucks my pen from me, sweeping up my papers and dumping them unceremoniously into her backpack. Next goes my violin. To her credit, she doesn't flinch at all when I snarl at her. She bounces back over to me, cup in hand. "Penelope said to drink this."

"I should have seen Bunce's influence in all of this." Rolling my eyes, I accept it, hoping that if I do what she says, she'll be more inclined to leave. (And, I am starving. Being around her right now is a bit like pouring acid down my throat, more than mildly uncomfortable.) "Tell me, how's your puppeteer doing? And what does she do when your strings get tangled?"

"It hasn't happened yet, but I'll let you know." She stares at me expectantly. "Less talking, more slurping."

"I haven't slurped since I was two." Still, I bring the cup to my lips. My stomach is riotous, trying to get to whatever's in the cup before I can take my first sip. "What _is_ this exactly?" I ask, watching her carefully. If Penelope instructed her to hand me this drink, with intentionally vague direction, then there has to be aspects of the living dead to this breakfast.

"Strawberry smoothie, I think," she wiggles her fingers. "Let me try some and I can tell you."

I tilt it back and swallow half of it before she has the chance to take it from me. "Too late, already answered."

"First you're on some sort of hunger strike, and now you refuse to share?"

Five days, seventeen hours, ten minutes and thirteen seconds since I last fed. It feels like sandpaper rubbing against each of my cells. But it maybe feels too good as well, like oxygen after holding my breath. (Or maybe the opposite. Because I don't realize I'm not breathing until it's all gone, every last drop.)

"See," Steph says brightly, "you already look better." I feel better, only slightly, but enough to make a difference. (I won't be telling her though.) "Although I think your sun allergy is coming back."

"Morgana! For the last time Steph, I'm not allergic to the sun."

"Whatever," she says breezily. "Next on the agenda: a nap."

"Feel free to take one," I sneer. "I've got things to do."

"As I already told you, no you don't. Penny said that she wouldn't have you going to the wedding the way you are now." I quirk an eyebrow up at her. "So, after you nap, I'll give you back your violin. You continue to argue with me, I snap the strings."

I gape at her, horrified. "You wouldn't."

"As much as it would pain me, I'd very much like the friend I made a couple months ago to make a reappearance. So, if a violin has to suffer at my hands to get him back, so be it."

"One hour," I snap.

"Four."

"Two."

"Two and a half, _and_ when I return with your second smoothie of the day, there won't be any back chat."

"Acting more like Bunce won't exactly endear you to me," I growl, already falling back against the couch. I don't sleep in the bedroom anymore. It hasn't smelt like Simon in days, and I haven't decided if it's a blessing or a curse. (Probably both.)

Steph just shrugs, putting her feet up on the coffee table and singing quietly to herself. She's got a beautiful voice, unsurprisingly. Her entire life's musical instruments; it's not much of a leap to assume that she would be one too.

A part of me doesn't want to give Penelope the satisfaction of controlling me from miles away, but Stephanie's good. She's more cunning than her innocent expression, and high lilting voice, should allow. With her soft singing, the hand she strokes along my ankle, and my achingly full stomach, it doesn't take me long to fall asleep.

It's the first time being away from Simon that I don't have the dream. That he's staring at me with hard eyes, holding onto that ridiculous sword and telling me everything he should have known over the past three years. That I'm no good for him, that I never was. That he could have anyone in the world, _anyone_ , so why would he want the person who tortured him for years? That he could never love a monster.

That he should have let me die in that fire.

No, today, it's a soothing hum, hands combing through my hair.

" _Sleep now, little puff," a gentle voice murmurs, "tomorrow will bring a new adventure." Something swells in my chest, like pain but sweet. I try to find her, the face to go with the words, to tell her that as much as I long for it to be true, it_ can't _be. Not without him. Not with everything so wrong because of me. "_ Basil _," she says my name like a sigh, a smile hidden beneath it._

 _I nearly pitch forward, tears clawing at my eyes. I try to push them away (I won't cry anymore, not for anyone. I won't. I can't). But it's a losing battle. "Mother," I breathe. It's just on the edge of a sob. It feels like that's where I've been hovering most days. "I wish you were here."_

" _I am, my love," my stomach twists in on itself, uncertain as all my emotions flood there. Grief, hope, anger, anguish, joy (most days, I can't remember what she sounds like), it rips at me until I'm raw. "In your heart."_

" _It's not enough," I cry, searching for light, for a way to find her. "It'll never be enough." All the energy leaves me, and I sink to my knees, pawing at the ground. "I'll never be enough." She's near me, close enough to tug me into her body. I curl into her, even though I'm too old to sit in my mother's lap. Even though she's cold like frost and it sends shivers raking through my body. Even though none of this real, that it's all a painful dream, another chance for the universe to skewer me. I cling to her and I break my promise as I begin to cry, because I need her. More than I've ever needed anyone._

" _Basilton," her voice is feather soft but unyielding, "if only you could see yourself the way he does." She presses her lips to my forehead, a gust of cool breeze followed by an icy kiss. "If only you could see yourself like I see you, my beautiful boy."_

" _You'd hate me," I say bitterly. I won't indulge in this fantasy, some desperate conversation my brain dreamt up to send me teetering towards madness._

" _I hate what they did to you," she objects, and there's a sharpness behind it. "But I could never stop loving you, Basilton. How anyone can know you and not love you, it baffles me." She shifts, and I can just make out her profile._

 _I don't realize how much I want to see her until she's inches from me. It's an ache in the back of my throat, burning like a moth too close to the flame. Twenty years of nothing but pictures and my own memories, and she's finally here._

 _I turn too quickly, desperate for the one good thing to happen since losing Simon. "Mum-"_

I hiss, blinking against the light that hits my eyes and trying to orient myself. The dread settles before I truly understand what's happened.

She's gone.

Steph stares at me, biting down on her bottom lip and trying not to let her concern show. "You were talking in your sleep," she waits until I sit up, giving me another smoothie. I drink it slower this time, my stomach rolling dangerously. I can still feel her hands in my hair, her breath against my cheek. It had felt so _real_. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," I snarl, "what time is it anyway?"

"Half past four," she shrinks away from the dark expression on my face, "you were just sleeping so deeply and I didn't want to disturb that."

"You were supposed to wake me," I say through gritted teeth, "that was the deal."

"I didn't mean to upset you," she rubs her hand along her arm, and for a moment, it seems as if she's about to cry. "You know what? I'll call Penny, she can come stay with you."

Damn her and those irritably large eyes. They're as expressive as a dog's; it makes curt behavior seem excessively cruel. "It was my mother," I say to her back, rolling my eyes as she stills, turning back to me slowly. Her face is guarded and she eyes me cautiously. (Overly dramatic. I barely even snapped at her.) "Oh, are you going to stand there and stare at me all day, or are you going to sit?"

"You've never told me about your mother."

I arch an eyebrow up, setting down my empty cup. "And yet you sound as if you already know what happened."

She looks down, abashed. "It might have come up in conversation. Penny didn't mean to tell me," she adds hurriedly, "I can just be very persuasive at time."

I shake away her worries, too tired to be angry. At this point, the entire magickal world knows of the great Natasha Grimm-Pitch, what's a Normal or two more? "She was so _good_. Strong and intelligent and brave. She would have hated what I am."

Stephanie's eyebrows knit together. "What you are? You mean gay?"

I can't very well explain my vampirism to her, so I settle on a noncommittal shrug. "Simon was right to say what he did. To leave when he did."

Her eyes shutter close. "I don't think -"

I ignore her, caught in this undercurrent of self-loathing to really notice the change in her. The way her shoulders straighten and her jaw sets. "Merlin, the fact that he stayed as long as he did is astonishing. But the fact that I wasn't expecting it all this -"

"Okay, enough," Steph barks, her face pinched with annoyance for the first time since I've met her, "I get this is a hard time for you, which is why we're all trying to be supportive, but let's make one thing clear. Simon didn't leave you. _You_ left him."

"That's not-"

"I'm not finished," she says, accompanied with a withering glare. "You and Simon worked. More than any couple I've ever seen, and better than that, you were so in love. You don't just give that up, no matter what you did, or what he said. You'd think someone as hardheaded as you would fight for anything you really love, but you just gave up!"

"But -"

Her eyes, narrowed to slits and glittering with barely restrained rage, whirl around to glower at me. "Let. Me. Finish." Venom coats her words and I'm not sure I could speak even if I had the balls to refuse her. "You and Simon both have been living in some sort of hell, and I won't pretend to understand it, but I know and you know that it's been self made. And not by him. Look, I'll be here for you, and I'll be your friend, but I won't sit here and let you paint yourself the martyr and Simon the asshole for walking away."

It takes a moment for me to gather my thoughts, and even then I'm so shellshocked that all I can muster is scathing indignation, and it's weak. "You don't know what you're talking about," I bite back, more annoyed with the sense she's making than anything else.

"Maybe not," she leans back into the couch and closes her eyes, drained of whatever fire that's just licked through her veins.

"Was sermonizing scolding next on your to-do list?"

"No, I threw that one in for free. You can go now."

"What?" She cracks open an eye and points to the door.

"I've done my job. I was supposed to get you to eat, sleep, and interact with another human being. You've been all but burped, and now I'm going to watch your TV."

"You did all this so you could yell at me?"

She huffs, drawing her knee up to her chest and watching me as if I've disappointed her. "I did all of this because _someone_ had to. I don't know if this is you being noble, or self-sacrificing, or just stupid, but he deserves better than this, and so do you."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, my eyes narrowing. "I'm not self-sacrificing."

"Just stubborn then."

Stephanie Kane is annoying when she's right. Even with her gaze glued to the television screen, thumbing through the channels with the remote, her smugness is suffocating.

"You'll drive up my energy bill," I grouse, if only to wipe away the beginnings of a smile from her lips.

"You can afford it."

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

"I'm sorry I've been so down," I peek at him through the corner of my eyes, surprised by the apology. Simon stares down at the ground, trying to stay upright. I would think his wings would help with his balance, but he's been flailing around for the last half hour. "I've really been sucking the life out of everyone, huh?"

"I think that's more Basilton's job," I watch for his reaction. He throws his eyes up to me, clutching my arm to keep from landing on his behind. They're brighter than they've been in a long while.

"Bugger off, Penny," he snorts, and I could cry out with delight, "that was weak." We inch around the ice rink, his confidence growing with each shakey glide forward. "I've been an awful friend, haven't I?"

"Absolutely not," I respond, pushing down the urge to frown at him. "You were upset, you needed me. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah," he lets out a frustrated huff, his hold on me tightening. "But I always seem to need you. And you're always there, even when it should be the other way around."

"Let's just go sit down," I brace myself to catch him as he begins to wobble, "I know you want to."

"Crowley," he sighs, letting me pull him off the ice. "I was afraid I'd end up on my arse before I could get all of this out. Anyway, thanks, I guess."

"For what exactly?"

He shoots me a knowing look. "You want an itemized list or something?"

"In alphabetical order would be lovely."

"Penny," he moans. I help him over to a chair, and he plops down, immediately tearing off his skates. "Just, thanks for being such a great friend, all right? I'm not saying anything more."

"I never expected you to," I smirk, "I just enjoyed seeing you squirm.

"Fuck off, Penn," he growls, his lips curling into a smile.

"But then where would you be without me?"

He shrugs, standing in front of me in socked feet and a curl spilling onto his forehead. "Off to buy hot chocolate, maybe a scone of the cherry variety?" He asks hopefully, bouncing from one foot to another.

"How are you possibly still hungry?" I laugh, thinking back to the mounds of food we ate the hour prior.

"I'll have you know ice skating is very rigorous exercise," he cries with a pout, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, consider me told." He pokes his tongue out and he's a breath of

fresh air. "Come on then, get your shoes on and we'll go." He grins, running over to where

he left his things.

And it's nice. Because even though I doubt he's okay yet, it finally feels as if I've got my best friend back.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"I don't know how anyone could call that a scone," I grumble, waiting for Penny to slip the key into the lock and let us in. "It was just burnt dough!"

"I don't know what you were expecting, Si," Penny throws the door open and holds it open for me. "They misspelled pastries on their sign."

"It was an embarrassment to scones everywhere," I declare, tossing down my jacket and fumbling around for the light switch. "No, it was an embarrassment to everyone, everywhere, ever." I whirl around to see if she agrees, frowning when I notice the way she's looking at me. "What?"

"What are you doing here?" She asks cautiously, coming beside me and wrapping a hand around my wrist. I turn, blinking when I see Baz sitting on the couch, his hands twisting in his lap. "I thought you would be with Stephanie all day."

"She dropped me over here before going back to school." He stands, smoothing his hands along his trousers. "Bunce, would you give Snow and I a second?"

"Should I?" She's still hasn't looked away from him, but I know she's asking me.

"It's fine, Penny," she's squeezing the _shit_ out of my shoulder. "I'll be okay."

"I'll be right in the next room," it's both a warning and a promise, and I'm not sure which is for who. "Try not to destroy anymore of Micah's things, yeah? He's up to his wits end with the lot of us." She casts one more dubious look over at Baz, walking slowly over to her room. She makes a big show of closing the door. I can't figure out why. We both know she's going to eavesdrop anyway.

"So…" I don't know if I should keep standing, or if I should sit beside him. What's good ex protocol? The only other person that's ever broken up with me was Agatha, and we just didn't talk until we did. There was no weird in between.

Baz and I are all in between, I guess.

He's just as uncertain as I am, his eyebrows knitting as he takes me in. And then he sits. And then he stands, his foot stepping forward before sliding back into place. And then he sits again, tucking his hands underneath his thigh before letting them twitch over to the buttons of his sleeve.

"God," he finally murmurs, "you'll trap flies the way you're going," He scoots to the very edge of the couch and nods to the other end, "you think you can breathe through your nose long enough for us to have an actual discussion?"

"Sure," I consider the seat he's directed me too, but it's still too close to him, so I sit on the arm of the chair instead.

" _Merlin_ , Simon," he pushes his hair back from his forehead. It's longer now, long enough to tuck behind his ears. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. And then I don't feel like smiling at all. I guess someone else will get to run their fingers through his hair once it's finished growing. "Something funny?"

"Nope," he hitches up an eyebrow, waiting for me to say something more. I don't and he exhales heavily.

"I wanted to see you," hope, so mutinous and sharp, punches at my stomach. I think he sees it because he stiffens, sucking on his fangs. "I wanted to see you so that we could _talk_ ," he says quickly.

I'm a bloody idiot.

"Now you want to talk?"

"I wasn't aware that this was a bad time," he sneers. I glare back at him, crossing my arms in front of me. But I don't want to fight with him, not when it's the first time we've sat down with each other properly in weeks.

"What do you _want_ , Baz?"

He leans forward, pressing his elbows to his knees. "I think we should try to be friends."

"Friends?" I roll the word around my mouth, weighing it on my tongue. It's bitter, and I almost spit it back out at him. "We've never been friends before."

"We've been friends for years."

"Never _just_ friends," I argue. "We were enemies, and then we were partners, and then we were together. I don't see friends anywhere on that list."

He turns so that he can study me, rubbing his hand along his chin. "We've been through plenty of firsts together," his face flushes, and it's the first time I realize he's not as pale as I last saw him. Maybe Penny cleaned him up and talked some sense into him too. "Why should this be any different?"

"I – I don't – it just _is_ ," I shrug, sliding down onto the couch cushion and sitting back. "Why now?" I ask suddenly. "You didn't want anything to do with me for six weeks, and _now_ you want to be friends?"

His eyes fall, and the part of me that still loves him, the biggest, loudest part, wants me to move closer to him. I want to take his hand and force him to look at me until it all comes spilling out and hold him until everything is alright.

But I don't.

Instead, I sit and wait for him to tilt his head back up. "I'd apologize for how everything went down," he says slowly, "but, Aleister, I don't think it would be enough."

"It'd be something." And it would be a door, something swung wide open for me to cry and forgive.

But he never _actually_ apologizes, and I never ask him to.

Instead, he drags a finger along the curve of his lip. "I had a dream about my mother." He says faintly. "And I woke up and all I wanted was to talk to you." I can read every single one of his thoughts written on his face, clear as day. And he's terrible for this, for erasing how angry I am with that single expression, for making me love him even more.

"I'm sorry," it feels like we need to be quiet, soft. And not just 'cuz Penny is definitely listening.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," he says. "Look, we have the same friends and we're going to be seeing one another. And, I don't think I can _not_ have you in my life." Damn him. Damn him to wherever it is sincere vampires go when they're done being all sincere. "So, would you like to be friends?"

"You going to shake my hand if I say yes?"

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of formality."

There's that stupid urge to smile again. "Sure," I nod. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" He echoes.

"I guess, we could try to be friends," I shrug once more, "it's better than the alternative." I've learned that the hard way again and again.

I'll take a life with Baz in it over one without him any day. Everyday. No matter how much it burns.


	19. Chapter 19

**PENELOPE**

"Hey," Stacy and I both look up from my binder, unable to hold back a smile as Steph springs up to us with a grin curling on her lips. "Thanks so much for inviting me."

I stand and let her pull me into a quick hug, the edge of my binder digging into my stomach. "With everything going on with Simon and Baz, I thought it better than to invite them." I think back to the evening before, dinner with the two of them and Micah. Stilted conversation and lingering looks aside, it was just _odd_ for all of us to be in one room again. "Besides, neither one of them has good taste anyway."

"Please," Stacy scoffs, "Baz is better looking than all of us on his bad days. I wouldn't be surprised if he's prettier than you on your wedding day."

"You can leave," I say dryly, "at any time."

Stacy grins, looping an arm through mine and giving me an insistent tug. I grab at Steph's hand before she can pull me too far forward. "But all the champagne," she sings, "all the free champagne."

The woman working in the bridal shop sets us up in the back, bringing in dozens of dresses for me to try and bottle after bottle of champagne. "Will that be all Ms. Bunce?" She says sweetly, handing over three champagne flutes with a smile.

"Yes," I reply, trying not to feel overwhelmed. Ask me to save the World of Mages, ace my A-level exams, _and_ take a full course load at uni, and I can do it no problem. Ask me to somehow hold together the Chosen One and a vampire, and I'll die trying before I give up.

But ask me to model white, frilly deathtraps, excuse me, _dresses_ in front of two girls I've only known a few months, and I can't catch my breath. "Can one of you call Agatha? She'll be furious if she doesn't get a say."

"Sure," Steph lunges for my bag, rifling through my bag and smiling triumphantly when she finds my phone. "Want me to Facetime her?"

"That would be great," I sigh, pulling my hair back into a ponytail and picking up the first dress gingerly. Tulle. Wonderful.

This is going to be a long day.

They've got Agatha on the phone by the time I shuffle out with the first dress on, fistful of material in my hand.

"Absolutely not."

Stacy leans in towards Steph, a smirk in her voice. "Blondie's good."

Steph pouts, fingering the buttons on her shirt. "You never call me blondie."

"Didn't realize you wanted me to."

"Could you two _please_ be quiet? I'm having a chat with a friend," I hiss, glaring at them. "Hello to you too, Agatha," I tilt my glass to her, ignoring the desire to itch.

"A mermaid gown? Penny, that's one of your worst ideas yet."

"What would you suggest?"

She gazes at me critically, twirling a strand of hair around and around her finger. "Where are you having this wedding? A church?"

"Basilton would burst into flames," she rolls her eyes, "fine, yes, a church. Micah's family is religious, so I get a three week honeymoon in Mexico, and he gets a priest and traditional vows."

"Seems like a win-win for him," Steph frowns, sending searching glances over at Stacy every few seconds. I store that particular piece of information away for later.

"He wanted to go skiing."

Agatha bites back a laugh, nodding as she chews on the inside of her cheek. "Since it's inside, no sleeves. And absolutely no lace." Tossing the phone over to Stacy, I begin to sift through the different dresses, shoving away any that don't fit Agatha's criteria. "Let's see where we go from there."

It's not nearly as terrible as I thought it would be, now that Agatha's taking charge. She's always had an eye for this sort of thing, and won't let me wear a burlap sack when my frustration becomes too much.

"Who in the world thought it would be a good idea to bedazzle a wedding dress?" I growl, accepting the fourth glass of champagne of the afternoon. Stacy, after growing bored around the third failed wedding dress, decided that the only way to get through the day is by being silly drunk.

"Well why would you actually try it on?" Agatha shoots back. I squint towards the tiny phone screen, watching as she falls onto her back and crosses her legs. "It's almost as ghastly as sequins."

"I think that'll be the next one," I crouch, scrubbing my hands over my face. "Would it really be so awful for me to be married in a pantsuit?"

"Yes," the three of them chorus. Steph, in another attempt to be helpful, steps up behind me and begins to undo the corset. The monstrosity of a dress pools around my ankles. Frankly, it belongs on the floor. No, it belongs in a dumpster.

"I think I wore the same kind of dress to my sweet sixteen," Steph says thoughtfully. "Everyone loved it."

"I'm sorry if I don't want my wedding day to look some trashy American reality television program."

"Don't knock _My Super Sweet 16_ until you watch it," Stacy says from the couch, throwing her legs up and using her bun as a pillow. "It's an American classic. Besides, I wish I could have had a party as big as theirs."

"Wouldn't actual friends be required for a party of that magnitude?"

"Good point," she acquiesces, frowning down at her empty glass. "Hopefully you two aren't still thirsty," she takes the champagne bottle by its neck, bringing it to her lip. "What about you, Aggs?" She asks politely, waving it at the phone screen. Agatha scowls, either from the nickname, or the general disdain that comes from meeting Stacy. "No?" She takes a swig, grinning, "more for me then."

"Next dress, Penny. I don't have that much more time left, I've got a meeting in an hour."

"What if we just do this some other day?" I offer almost desperately.

"Your wedding is in less than a month, Penelope. You don't have any other days." Agatha says testily, her voice coming out high and stressed from over the speaker of the phone.

"Well then I'll magic an extra day into existence, because obviously this one is a waste of time."

Agatha sighs, leaning forward. "Ten more dresses. If you don't like any of them, I will personally fly out to help you find something."

"Five," I step away from the dress, smiling gratefully at Steph as she picks it up and puts it back on its hanger. "And if I don't find anything, I'm wearing one of Micah's shirts and a pair of sweatpants." I walk back into the dressing room before I can hear her shrill objections.

The first of the five dresses is just terrible enough that I almost go back on the deal we've made. The hi-low skirt of the wedding dress makes me look unbelievably frumpy all while making it so I'll have to hold my breath for extended periods of time and breaking one of Agatha's cardinal rules: no sleeves.

The second dress, off-white organza, a tight bodice and miles worth of train, isn't awful, but the second it's on it feels like a dress created for someone else. We're all in agreement that while it's beautiful enough, it's just not right.

The third and fourth are nothing to write home about, unbelievably plain. With those dresses, Baz would outshine me, as would half of my guests. Stacy, as incorrigible as she is, thinks it's perfect for me. "No way would anyone pay you any mind," she simpers, "with me there and you in that. I'll get so much action I won't know what to do with it."

"Lovely," I roll my eyes, "really, Stacy."

"Ignore her," Agatha suggests. "I still get one more dress."

I shake my head, stripping quickly and reaching for the pants I came in. "This is pointless. Who cares about the dress anyway? The food will be fantastic, and the band I've booked is wonderful, and Micah will look great."

"If either of your girls lets her leave, I swear I'll be an absolute misery when we meet," Agatha screams. "What will trying on one more dress cost you?"

"Other than my sanity and the last of my dignity?" I mutter petulantly, leveling Steph with a glower when she steps in front of me. "Agatha wouldn't hurt a fly," I say, hoping that will get her to let me leave.

"Sorry," she shrugs, "I actually sort of agree with her. You don't want one of the most memorable days of your life to be spent in a ratty t-shirt."

"Trust me, I've had loads of memorable days," I protest, even though I know they're right. "I think I can get away with not being best-dressed on one of them."

"One dress," she tilts her head and smiles, blue eyes shimmering. I can see why Baz was so immediately taken with her. She's Simon with longer hair and a lack of self-destructive magic. Oh, and breast. "And then I will personally drive you back to Micah's."

"It's not fair," I snipe, "you two ganging up on me like this."

"I've had nothing to do with this," Stacy cries, just on the edge of smashed.

"Of course not you," I sniff, "you couldn't have been more unhelpful. I was referring to the two blondes in the room."

"Less talking, more changing," Agatha says, doing nothing to hide the smugness in her tone.

I think of every mean-spirited spell and curse I could cast on them as I stuff myself into the final dress. But at least my torture will be over soon, and I pin all my waning patience to that.

"Are you ready?" I call, rolling my eyes at every enthusiastic hum I hear. "Oh come now, it can't be that bad," I cry when I finally walk out and am met with stunned silence. I squint to Agatha, who's got her hands clapped to her mouth, her eyes wide as she watches me. "This is why we should have left thirty minutes ago," I complain, lifting the skirt of the dress so I can go the mirror. "At least then we could have squeezed in a late lunch."

"No," Steph's the first to find her voice, shaking her head. "We're not saying anything because you look bad. If anything, it's the exact _opposite_."

"You're hot," Stacy agrees, shrugging as if that's all the explanation I need.

"Penny, that's the one," Agatha nods, clearing her throat when her words come out thick. "It's _perfect_."

I eye myself critically, twisting back and forth in front of the mirrors. It's definitely the most simple of the gowns I've tried on, elegantly beautiful without trying all the effort. And I can't help but trail my fingers down the silken skirt of the princess gown, soft and smooth and cool to the touch.

"It's not…the worst dress I've ever seen," I pick at the beading on the fitted bodice, cinched tight to my waist by a lovely lavender ribbon. "It's actually quite nice."

"Buy it," Agatha squeals, clapping, "please, or I will." I wrap my arms around myself, clinging to the dress. Protecting it from someone else and it's not even mine.

I think the last time I was this irrational, I'd thrown my pacifier from my crib.

"Do you really think it's the right one?" I ask, hoping the answer will be a resounding yes. Anything less than that will reduce me to tears.

I'd be embarrassed if I didn't care so much.

"You'll be the most beautiful bride," Steph says, staring at me with earnest eyes. "You'll be the most beautiful woman to ever exist."

"I agree, minus all the mushy sentiment," Stacy stands and slips her arm through her bag. "You'll give Baz a run for his money, and that's the highest praise I can give you."

"You're too drunk to drive, Stacy," Steph calls, sending me one last smile before scurrying after Stacy.

And that leaves only Agatha and I. "Thank you," I say, craning around to try and unzip myself. "For helping me. I'm lost when it comes to things like this."

"Yeah, well if I need some magickal help you'll be the first I call," she laughs. It sounds like bells tinkling, church bells chiming on a Sunday morning. "To be completely honest, I don't have many girlfriends here, close ones anyway. None like Minty, or _you_."

"The closest I've got to female friends over the past three years are those two, so it seems as if we're in the same boat."

Even when we were in the same place together, we didn't spend much time together. She's meant to be one of my bridesmaids, and yet I don't know anything _real_ about her life.

"I think it's time we rectify that." I finally get myself free, bending over and scooping up the dress carefully as if it'll disappear if I handle it too roughly. "How are you Agatha, really?"

She's quiet, surprised by my question. "I told you before, I'm fine."

"Agatha Wellbelove is fine. I want to know how my _friend_ Agatha is doing."

"You still have no clothes on," she reminds me.

"Somehow over the years, I mastered the art of multitasking. I can listen, get dressed and pay all at once. It's marvelous really."

"I'm not sure what you want to know exactly."

I shrug on my shirt, button on my jeans and stick my feet inside my trainers. "Start from your first day in California and work your way forward," she lets out a astonished squeak, "don't worry, I've got time."

"That's three _years_ , Penny."

"Then you better get started," I say, grabbing my phone before marching over to the counter and laying the dress down. "Yes, credit please."

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

The wedding day comes faster than I'm prepared for it. I think Penny may have just given me an honorary title, because at first she asked me to do tons of stuff. And then when it became obvious that I'm kind of useless, she stopped asking. I guess she's got her sisters and Agatha around, but still. _I'm_ the man of honor.

"Come on Penny, put me to work," I bounce alongside her as she buzzes around the apartment. "How about I call some caterers? Or I check on when your family's flight times? Maybe make sure the hall can accommodate everyone who's RSVP'd?"

"Done, done, and already done, Simon," her brow furrows. "Weeks ago, actually. All I need is for you to have a suit and be ready for the rehearsal dinner tonight."

I nod eagerly, hair flying everywhere. "Oh," she cries, her frown deepening. "A haircut, you need one. Immediately." She reaches up and tugs on one of my curls. "And decide on blue or blonde, I won't have you skating this in-between look in all the pictures."

Baz chooses then to waltz in, already dressed for the rehearsal dinner. He goes over to the window and shoves his hands into his pockets, looking as if he just strolled out of a catalogue in his dark grey suit and cool expression.

"All right, Bunce?" He asks, seemingly oblivious to the riot he's causing in my stomach. He just looks so _good_. I want to kiss his widow's peak, want to bite at him until every mark on his skin is another reminder for why he should drop this "just friends" shit.

"I would be better if you could go make this one presentable before the party starts," she say, brushing her hair from her face. I don't think I've ever seen her this worked up. And she's dealt with me for eleven years now. "I can't trust him to go get a haircut on his own and get to the party in time for toasts. Could you please go with him?" We both still, exchanging quick looks before we remember not to look at one another for too long.

"Um, Bunce-"

"Penny, I can-"

Penny growls, swiveling around to scowl. "I wouldn't ask if there was _anyone_ else to do it. And if you haven't noticed, I have to make sure that everyone is checked into their appropriate hotels, that the restaurant is ready for us tonight, that Micah's senile grandmother doesn't go belly up any time soon, all before I'm married _tomorrow_. So do what I say, or die. There is no third option."

"Come on then, Snow," Baz tries to seem nonchalant, but I see it when he gulps, watching Penny nervously. "I'd rather keep breathing today. You?"

I nod. "We'll see you tonight," I kiss her cheek quickly, running before she can swat me away.

"Not a second late," she calls after me, "or I swear to Merlin, Simon Snow."

Baz is right behind me, whistling for a taxi and then sheparding me in once one pulls up in front of us. We don't spring apart until we're driving to the same place that Baz got his hair cut, my thigh tingling wherever it touches his.

"You see the dress yet?" I start talking to cut through the silence. "It's really cool, um, all white and stuff."

"As most wedding dresses tend to be," he says, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. "I tried to see it earlier, but then Bunce preceded to bite my head off, so…"

"So," I repeat, searching my brain for anything, _anything,_ to say.

"You decide what type of haircut you want?" He asks. I grab at it like a lifeline, rummaging around my pocket for my cellphone.

"Yeah, okay, so I was thinking short in the back and long in the front, with a part to the side? And I figured they could just bleach out the blue or something, I don't know. I think next I'm going to do green."

"Green?"

"Yeah, but like the color of the grass I think, not anything dark or anything."

"Should look good," he's smirking now, and it's all I can do not to pull him into me. "I don't know how long this will take, so how about I text Steph and tell her to bring your suit to the restaurant? You can get changed there and we won't have to rush."

"Whatever," I shrug, leaning against the window and regarding him curiously. "Did you finish your speech yet?"

"Did you?" He shoots back, mirroring the way I sit. His foot is close enough that when I nudge it with my toe, it's almost accidental. At least I hope that's what he thinks.

"Would it be terrible if I say I'm going to wing it?"

He groans, swiping a hand over his face. "Simon," a tremor goes up my spine at the sound of my name in his mouth, "that's one of your most terrible plans. Which is definitely saying something."

"I don't know, the words will come to me, hopefully."

He inhales, sweeping his tongue over his teeth so he won't smile. "For your sake, I hope you're right. Bunce will have your head if you're not." He reaches down and squeezes my knee. I jolt up at the contact, my skin coming alive for one quick moment. He snatches his hand back, a small gasp passing through his lips. "Sorry," he turns back to the front, studiously avoiding my eyes.

"Don't be," I sound all breathless, like I've been running for ages. Sort of feels like I have. I haven't been this winded since Baz tricked me into doing a 10k with him. I ended up flying halfway through it, and the git still beat me to the finish line.

Neither one us speaks until we get to the barber shop, and the most I can muster is a "thanks" for holding the taxi door open for me.

"Ah, I remember you!" A portly Italian man stands from one of the grooming chairs, hurrying towards us and throwing his arms around Baz's shoulders. "Hair like an Greek God, this one." He presses noisy kisses to each of his cheeks, Oblivious to Baz's discomfort. "You're getting quite long, are you here for another cut?"

I surge forward, getting between them and shaking my head frantically. "No!" I cry, a _tad_ bit more dramatic than the situation calls for. "Um, I just, um, I'm here for a haircut. Baz promised to leave his hair alone."

They both watch me as if I've gone mad, but the barber nods, a knowing look growing on his face. "So this is your young man," he says, ushering me over to a chair. "I see. My wife never allows me to make any decisions on my own either. The fight we had when I bought a KIA nearly destroyed our marriage."

"He's not mine," Baz stammers, shying away to the side and staring down at the floor. "We're friends." I fold my arms over my chest, grimacing at the mirror. "He needed a cut, and I remembered what a good job you did on me."

"Of course," he begins to whistle, draping a styling cape over my shoulders. "Tell me what it is you want and I'll have you and your _friend_ on your way." He winks at me and it's almost enough to get rid of my frown.

We do end up having to rush to the restaurant. The barber, Adalberto, is chatty. He talks Baz's ear off, and when he's run out of things to say, he turns to me. I don't mind it though; he's interesting to listen to. He starts on music as he tries to get the blue out of my hair.

"Now, I like the old stuff too, but my daughters have shown me that I need to stay hip. That Josh Groban, he's got a fantastic voice."

I grin up at him, closing my eyes when the shampoo starts splashing. "I don't think I've ever listened to him."

"Oh, Simon," he clucks, "you've been missing out on the finer things in life."

"I'll try to remember that," he rinses water through my hair, and then sighs.

"Another wash?" I ask, settling back into the chair and hoping the crick in my neck disappears.

"Another wash," he confirms. "Next time you need a dye, you come to me, yes?"

"Absolutely." I figure I'll hold off on the green. It won't exactly match Penny's wedding colors.

Baz has to haul me out the door, his hand warm on my elbow as I wave back to Adalberto. "Bunce is going to castrate us both, does that not concern you?"

"Nah," I wave away his concerns, "we're not even that late."

Baz levels me with an irritated look. "The party started thirty minutes ago. We've missed hors d'oeurves, and Merlin help us if there's traffic."

There is. We're in the taxi for another ten minutes before Baz curses under his breath and wenches the door open. "You got your running shoes on?"

"I can do you one better if you don't mind the cold." He arches an eyebrow, but doesn't argue. Instead, he throws some money at the driver, grabs my hand and takes off to the closest alleyway. "I'll kill you if you drop me."

"I'd never," his eyes dart back to me, and for a long moment I forget that we need to be somewhere. Because it's the first time in a while that he's looked at me the way he used to. Like there's no world where we wouldn't be together. "Up, up, and away?" I ask in a small voice, quiet enough that he won't hear the quiver there. I'm glad it's dark enough to hide my blush.

He wraps his arms around my waist, and I don't know how I'll be able to focus on keeping us alive with him this close. "Let's go."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

My hair is a fucking mess by the time we land in front of the restaurant. And I may have forgotten how to form words that don't deal with Simon and his new haircut and the way he smells. (Like fruity shampoo and sweat and nutmeg. It's personally offending how nice he smells. How dare he.)

"Your suit," I manage to say, reluctantly pulling my arms from him. "Go get it and change as fast as you can."

"Yeah," his wings give one last flutter before they disappear from sight, "meet you back here?"

I nod, pulling out my cellphone and seeing what I can do with the rat's nest currently residing on the top of my head. At least when my hair was shorter it was easier to style. Now there's not much I can do with it, not with the amount of time I have. I've only just tamed it when Simon comes racing back over to me, breathing hard in a black suit and the shiniest loafers he owns.

"You ready?" He asks, bending over slightly as he huffs. He's really a picture, moaning slightly as he straightens, more beautiful than he has the right to be. The suit must be new, it fits him tighter than anything else I've seen him in, hugging him like a glove. If I really look, I can make out the muscles of his stomach, each ridge just begging to be touched. "Baz," he says urgently, jumping on the balls of his feet, "you ready?"

"Oh, yeah," I turn and walk briskly into the back room of the restaurant, my eyes instantly landing on Penelope. I can tell when she sees us, her smile withering away from her face. She touches Micah's arm, whispering something to him, before standing, brushing her hands down the length of her skirt and storming over to us.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kick the both of you out?" She hisses, taking us both by the arm and yanking us over to the table in the front of the room.

"Well, the door's that way. Penn," Simon says, his nose crinkling with confusion. "But you're pulling us into the party."

"Shut up, Simon," she growls, looking back at him. "Oh, and nice haircut."

"Yeah?" He beams, his chest puffing out with pride. "I thought you might like it."

"You're just lucky that you didn't miss the speeches." She deposits us at the two empty seats beside Micah. Simon makes quick work of greeting everyone, standing to throw himself at Agatha. She takes it in stride, somehow staying upright despite her ridiculous heels.

"How you doing, mate?" I turn to Micah. His smile is so wide it nearly splits his face open, and I search my brain for the last time I was as happy as he is now. "Party seems to be going well."

"Oh, absolutely not." He laughs. "Premal and Penny got into a fight the second we got to the restaurant. I'm pretty sure her mother hates my slightly racist abuela, and one of my cousins was rushed to the hospital after her peanut allergy was triggered."

"So then why are you so happy?"

Micah's face softens, and when I turn to follow his gaze, I find myself staring at Penelope laughing with Steph. "Because I'm marrying the best girl. This entire restaurant could go up in flames and I would still be the luckiest bastard in the world." He turns back to me, cringing. "Oh, sorry. I forgot." I raise an eyebrow, flicking a strand of hair away from my eyes. "Flammable."

"I promise you that if this place were to catch on fire, you'd be just as likely to end up a pile of ash."

"Excellent well wishes on the eve of my wedding day," Micah claps his hand against my back, too exuberant to be brought down. "Hope your speech is a little warmer."

"Get me a glass of champagne and we'll see."

He chuckles. "You got it. Simon," he waits for Simon to twist away from Agatha, staring expectantly up down at him, "you want anything from the bar?"

"A beer?"

"All right," pushing his chair back in, he salutes us, "I'll be right back."

I can feel Simon's eyes on me, studying me. "What is it, Snow?" I don't want to be wary of him, but it's hard not to when he seems intent on sitting there with his damn mouth open and his eyes on my face.

"Just," he stops, his expression taking on a cautionary edge, "thanks. For coming with me today."

"Not that big of a deal."

"It was to me," he shrugs. A waiter comes over, drops a plate of food in front of us both. "So, yeah," he glances down at his chicken, a blush in his cheeks, "thanks."

Penelope comes back over to her chair, cutting into her steak before glowering over at us.

"What have we done now?" I ask exasperatedly, tired of the dark looks.

With her fork still hovering in the air, she jabs at finger at me. "Did you really send my fiancée to fetch you drinks?"

"He offered," Simon says from behind me. "It isn't our fault he's nicer than you."

"Whatever," she says, finally taking a bite. "Don't get too comfortable, Simon. Once Micah comes back, you're giving your speech."

"Why do I have to go first?" He whines, pushing the vegetables around his plate. "Shouldn't I go last? I've known you the longest, I'm your best friend, it only seems fair."

"Yes, well, customarily the maid of honor goes first. Since that was privilege I bestowed on you, there will be no spot switching."

"Is it too late to beg off this whole man of honor thing, then?" He murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. He squares his shoulders though, momentarily distracted from his food as Penelope taps the tip of her knife against her glass. She rises from her chair, giving Micah a quick kiss as he sits.

"Hello everyone," she says, just loud enough to be heard over the dull roar of the rest of the room, "thank you so much for being here for Micah and I before one of the most important days of our lives." Someone hollers in the back, I think it's Premal (that's no way to get back on her good side) and soon the room is bursting with applause. "All right, all right," she giggles, waving away the noise, "that can wait 'til the end, can't it?"

"Get on with it, then," Teddy, our next-door neighbor from England screams. He'd been more than happy to make the trip out, properly nailing into us all for moving without a word. It helps though that I sublet the apartment to coeds from France. (The only thing softening in this equation is the blow.)

"Since everyone seems so eager to proceed," she sends Teddy a warning look and he grins back, "I think I'll hand the microphone over to my best mate and my man of honor, Simon Snow."

Simon swallows roughly, gripping the bottom of his suit jacket anxiously. In a moment of weakness (as if all my moments aren't incredibly weak when it comes to him) I grab for his trembling fingers and squeeze. His eyes dart to mine, giving me that same startled look from the taxi. I nod at him, my hold on him tightening when he loosens, brushing away the chance he gives me to pull away.

"Um," he flinches at the feedback that squeals through the restaurant, lowering the microphone a bit, "hi. As many of you already know, I'm Simon Snow. I, uh, I met Penny on my first day at Watford, said something idiotic about her name." The corner of his mouth perks into a smile, and I feel him begin to relax. "I'm always saying something idiotic around Penny, and yet somehow she's managed to stay my friend for all these years.

"God, I owe this girl my life. I owe about six or seven lives to her, actually. I don't know where I would be, who I would be, if she hadn't decided to take some daft eleven-year-old under her wing. And, yeah, she's great in a pinch, when the world's ending and you need someone with an incredible brain and incredible strength, but she's also the only one I want around to tell me that I can't eat butter from the tub." A laugh spreads through the room, and I don't think he needs me anymore. (So why can't I bring myself to let his hand go?) "And she's the bossiest person I've ever met. _Crowley_ , no one gives directions like Penelope Bunce."

"Well, no one needs direction like you," Penelope cries defensively, tucked into Micah's side. "It's a symbiotic relationship."

His grin is so wide, I can't stare at him directly anymore. He's brighter than I've ever seen him, happy because Penelope's happy. It only makes me love him more.

"See," he exclaims, pointing at her excitedly, "she can't even let me get through my speech."

Penelope rolls her eyes, flicking her wrist at him. "Continue unmolested."

"Thank you," I finally drop his hand, folding them in my lap before they do something I'll regret. "Look, Penny, the day I met you is the day I finally got a family. And the only reason I'm even letting all this happen is because I know that while no one could ever fully deserve you, Micah comes pretty damn closer. Closer than any other person in the world."

"Love you too, Si," Micah tips his champagne glass to him. (I don't know how I'll be expected to go after all this. Everyone is just tickled by all of _this_ , by Simon and Penelope and the unending entertainment that is their friendship.)

Simon hassles his hair, looking down at the floor before peeking at Bunce's friends and family through his eyelashes, the perfect combination of sheepishness and earnest. It goes straight down my spine, the curls dropping into his face and his plump lips and that damned expression. (Wouldn't that be a laugh? Going to give my speech with a hard-on? Oh, please let me die.)

"I guess you guys are just lucky," he starts again, more delicate this time. "You found the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and you made it so you could." If it was hard to look at him before, it's almost impossible to keep my eyes from him now. "You've got the best thing in the world, someone to love who loves you back, and I couldn't be happier for you." He lifts his beer. "To Penny and Micah."

"To Penny and Micah," the rest of the room echoes. Simon goes to sit, eyes widening right before he shoots back up. "Oh," he cries, flapping his arm to get everyone's attention back, "if you hurt her, I'll put you on your back."

Micah tosses his head back and cackles, lessening the impact of the threat. "Duly noted."

Simon sits, pleased with himself. "That may be the most eloquent string of words I've heard from you." He shrugs, too keyed up to pay attention to my teasing. "You really pull all that from your arse?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while, I guess." He takes a contemplative bite of his chicken. "Ever since we became friends, actually."

I can't focus too hard on him and his sweet words and the way his throat moves when he takes a sip of his beer, because I've spent the last two hours in a hell of my own making and I'm barely coping. He's so close, close enough to touch, close enough to lick away every wound I've left in him until we're back to normal. So, instead of crawling into his lap and grinding down until neither of us can or want to speak, I finish my champagne and think of cold showers and drained deer. (I might be a bit sexually frustrated.)

"Well, it was pretty great," I say, and his smile almost pulls a groan from my lips. "But, I'm not one to be outdone." He bites down on his lip and my chair nearly topples over with how quickly I stand. "Hello there," I call, "my name is Basilton Pitch, and unfortunately for us all, I've got to say nice things about Bunce for the next two to three minutes. So, shall we begin?"


	20. Chapter 20

_**SIMON**_

"Do you need any water? How about a massage? _I_ personally can't give you the massage, I'm _terrible_ at them, but I can find someone to give you one. Or, um, are you hungry? When was the last time you ate, you wouldn't want to faint up on by the alter. Or how about – "

Penny whips around, styled hair flying around as she grips the back of her chair. "Simon, breathe." Blinking owlishly at her, I inhale, surprised at the instant relief in my chest. Shit, I might be panicking. "Everything is taken care of, I promise."

"Penelope," Agatha taps a makeup brush against Penny's shoulder, "you need to stop fidgeting. If you're not careful, you'll come out more clown than Kate Middleton."

"I said light makeup, Agatha," Penny says, a slight edge to her voice, "just some eyeliner and a little blush, Maybe lip-gloss."

"Of course," Agatha says breezily, winking at me from over a jar of sparkly powder.

"Neither of you is to be trusted," Penny hisses, standing and waving us both away. "I'm going to go find my mother, and I promise that if I see even an ounce of hooker makeup on my face, I'm canceling this entire wedding."

"Empty threats don't bother me," Agatha whispers, falling back against the couch and patting the spot beside me. "So, now that I've got you alone, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Shoot," I reply, careful not to wrinkle my suit as I sit. I don't know how she did it, but somehow Baz, Agatha, all of Penny's sisters and I match. Lavender dresses for the girls, light grey suits with lavender ties for Baz and I.

I think I especially pull off the look, not to brag.

"What happened between you and Baz?" I shouldn't have been surprised by the question, but I still gawk at her open-mouthed for longer than necessary. "It's just, the last time I saw you two, everything was fine. And then you get your magic back and you weren't talking and now it's so obvious that you two still want to be together, but you aren't."

"How do you know all of that?" I ask, momentarily distracted by my curiosity.

"Penny kept me updated. It was more interesting than studying for my anthropology class."

"Well if you can ask me a question, I guess I can ask you one," I counter, searching for anyway to avoid this conversation. "What ever happened to the fit guy from the coffee shop?"

Agatha blanches, considering her manicure, the same color as her dress, before bringing her thumbnail to her teeth. "Baz told you?"

I shrug. "He thought I'd want to know."

"You know what? You're better off without him." She huffs, folding her arms over her chest.

"I don't know why we aren't together," I admit, resisting the impulse to laugh at the petulant expression on her face. "I was just so annoyed. He kept forcing all these decisions on me, and I wanted him to stop. But I didn't think we would end up anywhere near here."

"And you can't just tell him that you want to be with him?" Agatha asks, messing about with a wisp of hair that won't stay in her bun.

"He doesn't want to hear it," I let my head loll back against the wall, "he wants to be _friends_."

Agatha's quiet or a moment, her forehead puckering as she frowns. "That guy, from the café. He's one of my best friends at uni, has been for years. His name is Lucas, and I think I might be in love with him." She fumbles around with the bracelet around her wrist, looking at anything but me. "But, I don't say anything. I don't think I ever will, because the last time I thought I was in love with someone, it was you. And I wasn't, not in the proper way anyway. And I'm afraid I don't know how to love, or that after I make some huge declaration of affection and decide later on that I was wrong, it'll blow up in my face again. And I'll lose him, just like I lost you and Penny and even that idiot Baz."

"You didn't lose us," I argue, reaching down to squeeze her arm. She gives me a tight smile, wriggling away from me.

"I did. For a little while at least. This is probably the first proper conversation we've had in eons, about anything serious anyway." She pauses, licking her lips to collect herself. "Look, I may still be figuring out how I feel most of the time, but I do know love when I see it. And I saw it in the way he held your hand, and during your speech, and the way you looked at him after. Neither of you wants to just be friends. The only thing stopping you from being with him is your own stubbornness or fear or whatever other meaningless thing that you're letting keep you from the love of your life."

* * *

 _ **AGATHA**_

For a second, I think he'll jump up and go chasing after Baz. And I'll be the best friend in Simon's romantic comedy, the supporting character in Simon's never-ending, constantly catastrophic story. And that he'll finally, _finally,_ see fucking sense. I don't think I'll mind, this one time.

But because nothing in the world can ever change that much, and Simon Snow's still a colossal idiot half the time, he just takes me hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. He doesn't wipe away the tear the drops from his eye down the length of my wrist, and I don't mention it.

"We should probably get out there," he says gruffly. "Ceremony should be starting soon." He gets to his feet and walks towards the door, stopping long enough to let out a shaky sigh, before leaving me behind.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

The ceremony is just as beautiful as we all thought it would be. Since Penny had more bridesmaids than Micah had groomsmen, I end up walking down the aisle with Agatha. Baz goes down with one of Penny's sisters, and then we stand there and wait. I try to focus on everything, try to take everything in, but Agatha's words play through my head like a skipping record.

Baz isn't on the other side of some ocean, or on the other side of the country even. He's right here, wearing the shit out his suit because it's impossible to him to find a suit he doesn't look good in. And I could take his hand if I wanted to.

I _want_ to.

And I could tell him I still love him.

I _do_.

And it could be like the last few months never happened. And I've never wished for something so badly in my entire life. Not for my parents, not for my magic, _nothing._

Micah cries when Penny walks in. He tries to pass it off as something else for a few seconds, but then thinks better of it and just stands there grinning and crying like his life never mattered until this moment. It makes me tear up, but Penny gives me a look when she hands me the bouquet, and I know that I'm going to have to keep it together until the end of the ceremony at least.

I'm not particularly religious, but the words flow together prettily, and every time I start to get fidgety, I think of what it would be like if it were Baz and me. I would definitely cry, he'd roll his eyes and whisper something to make me laugh. We'd ignore the minister and make faces at one another and I would stumble over my vows. And it would be perfect because it'd be him and me and we'd have finally gotten it _right_.

" _Simon_ ," Agatha pokes me in the side, pulling me from my thoughts, "come on, the wedding's over."

I jerk back, swiveling around to watch as Penny and Micah pull apart, officially husband and wife. Penny turns to me, cheeks wet and quivering with the strength of her smile, holding her hand out for her flowers.

"All right?" Agatha mutters to me as we walk back down the aisle, her arm hooked around mine. I nod mutely, letting her slide into the limo behind Penny before getting in myself. "Really?" She drops her voice even lower when Baz and the rest of the wedding party get in. "Because every time I looked over at you, you were completely zoned out."

"Do you think Penny noticed?" I ask in a panic, feeling like the world's biggest git for missing my best friend's wedding. I couldn't tell you their vows with a gun to my head. Although I'm not sure I could tell anyone much with a gun to my head. I would be too busy pissing my pants.

Agatha nods to where Penny and Micah sit off to the side, kissing. "I don't think they've noticed anything but each other the entire day."

Someone's said something that gets Baz laughing, and the sound fills the entire car, expands into my chest. "I know the feeling."

She doesn't try to talk to me the rest of the way there, and I'm thankful for it. I'm too rattled for conversation, too aware of every move Baz makes. It's my own fault, I guess. Me and my stupid imagination. And his too. Because if I didn't know how he looked in a suit, maybe I wouldn't be able to see him slipping a ring onto my finger and promising to be with me until death do us part.

Actually, it's all _his_ fault. The prat.

We have to do pictures before we can get into the reception. Penny warned me before we left, but I forgot, too distracted with everything going on, and now I'm too antsy and too hungry to keep still.

"But Penny," I whine, letting her usher me between Baz and Agatha without much fuss, "by the time we're finished, they'll have finished _all_ the food."

"There's a McDonald's down the block," she takes me by the shoulder, angling me this way and that way until she's satisfied, "so you should be fine."

I stick my tongue out at her, but she's already moved on, making the gooiest eyes at Micah that I've ever seen. I didn't think she was capable of a look like that, but then again she's Penelope Bunce. I suppose she's capable of just about anything.

"I was promised macaroni and cheese," I pout, even though I can tell she's ignoring me. I try my luck with Agatha, turning to her and jutting out my bottom lip further. "I was promised macaroni and cheese."

"You're a toddler, Simon," she rolls her eyes, taking out a compact and fixing her lipstick. "I'm sure they'll be plenty of food left when we get in. They can't start serving without the bride and groom."

"Yeah, but all the dinner rolls will be _gone_ ," I grumble, trying not to shiver. "And the _butter_." The snow's pushed us inside for pictures, but the massive windows we're standing in front of are doing nothing to keep us warm.

"Cold?" Baz asks, his eyes finding mine for the first time all day.

"Maybe," I shrug. My stomach's doing something strange, and it takes all my efforts to keep it from bouncing out of my throat. "But unless you've brought a space heater with you, I don't think you'll be much help."

He smirks at me, huddling in a little closer and lowering his head. "Lovely ceremony, yeah?" Oh, my stomach is _this_ close to ruining his suit. How exactly do you apologize for projectile vomiting one of your organs onto your ex-boyfriend? I don't think they make cards for that sort of thing. "Bunce looked good."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, clamping my mouth shut before anything else can spill out.

"Happy too," he continues, pushing his hands into his pocket.

I hum, and I'm glad no one can see my tail. It's swishing around like mad, thumping against the back of my legs to the irrational beating of my heart.

"What're you thinking?" He asks, and it comes out so conversationally that I almost answer. And then I look up at him, meet his searching gaze with one of my own, and shrug. "Come on, Snow. You need me to find you a dictionary?"

"Don't be an ass," I growl, and it feels better to be annoyed with him than to be miserably in love with him. Or to be annoyed with him _while_ being miserably in love with him. "You came to talk to me, doesn't mean I have to talk back."

"Right," he sneers.

"Your face is going to get stuck that way someday," I say, smiling when his sneer deepens.

"No need to concern yourself with my face, Snow," he snips back. "Not your job anymore, is it?"

"No, I guess not."

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

"The children are fighting," Micah murmurs in my ear, a laugh in his voice and his breath hot against my skin. I nuzzle back into him, and he rubs his hands along my arm when I shiver. The photographer calls for our attention and both Simon and Baz manage to bite their tongues long enough for us to take a group shot or six.

And when they start bickering again, I can't help but laugh. "Let them," I turn into Micah's chest, wishing I'd thought to wash my face so that I could hug him properly. "You're my only concern."

"Today?" He asks, grinning.

"Today and everyday afterwards." I'm supposed to be talking pictures with my bridal party, but it'll take more than an irate photographer to get me out of his arms. "Is that alright with you, Mr. Acevedo?"

"More than all right Mrs. Acevedo," he mumbles against my lips, "it's perfect."

I pull back, holding onto the fluttery feeling in my chest and hoping it never fades. "Mrs. Bunce-Acevedo," I correct him, "Penelope Bunce-Acevedo."

He cocks his head to the side, musing his hair with a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's certainly a mouthful."

"Yes," I nod, "it is. But it's my mouthful and I love it."

"And I love you," he replies automatically, his grin widening. "Now, let's finish these pictures already. Don't tell Simon, but I'm just as hungry as he is."

"Oh thank God, I'm starving too," I giggle. "We don't really need pictures do we? I'll remember this day well enough for all of us."

"Try telling that to my mother," he sets his hands on my waist and turns me. "Now smile and maybe we can get this done before the appetizers go cold." He leans forward, rests his chin on my shoulder. I don't think it'll be too hard to follow his instructions. I couldn't stop smiling even if I wanted to.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

Simon's distracting. It's not as if he's doing anything in particular to pull my attention, but his preoccupation with whatever it is that had him slack-jawed and glassy-eyed during the ceremony has me curious. For one terrible moment, I think maybe he brought a date with him, but after bickering with him for the half hour it takes to get all the photos taken, it's clear he hasn't. (I don't know I would have done if he had. Maybe kill them? Decorate the hall in their blood and then kiss him in the getaway car.) (I shouldn't brainstorm angry.)

But, I digress. Simon's over at the Bunce's table, his arms waving as he speaks with Penelope's mother, and he's distracting. I don't feel like drinking, there are too many people around for me to eat, and everyone I know is already in the middle of a conversation. It gives me plenty of time to watch him.

I'm so busy focusing on him that I don't notice when someone huffs up to me, a storm of brown hair and pissed-off expressions. They clear their throat noisily, and when I finally tear my eyes from Simon, who's managed to knock a glass of champagne onto Premal's date, I feel them widen.

" _Fiona?_ " I exclaim, standing and going around to the other side of the table where Fiona stands with Mordelia's hand in hers. "What are you doing here?"

Mordy squirms free of Fiona and throws herself at my legs. "Baz!" She cries, and even though ten is far too old for this, I bend down and scoop her up. She squeals, reaching down to make sure her skirt is in it's proper place before twining her arms around my neck. "Auntie Fi told me we've come all the way here to yell at you."

I glance warily around my sister to where Fiona still stands glowering at me. "Have you?"

Mordelia nods, sending a mass of hair careening towards my face. "I think I see some sweets over by the drink table. Get me a cupcake?"

"Chocolate or vanilla?" She asks, letting me set her down and regarding me with a deadly serious look. (You'd think I just asked her the secrets of the universe with the way she's staring me down.)

"Surprise me," she nods once more, turning around and racing through the dance floor. I think she steps on a few feet on the way there, and I can't help but laugh.

"Imagine my surprise," Fiona starts coolly, "when I went to visit my dear nephew, only to find an embarrassment of scantily dressed girls."

I fold my arms over my chest, pursing my lips. "You gave it to me," I remind her. "And I was the one paying all the bills anyway. It was hardly yours anymore."

She shakes her head. "Nuh-uh, Basilton. Back chat's for people who haven't been kidnapped by fucking numpties."

"One time," I snarl, "that happened one time. Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Sure," she sniffs, "once you do something as equally pathetic as get kidnapped by numpties. Oh wait, you have!"

"And what would that be?"

"Moving to another continent without so much as a word to your favorite aunt." She lowers her voice when Mordelia appears at her side, half a cupcake in hand and frosting on her bottom lip. "I had to hear about it from your father, of all people. Oh, and he's livid with how much you've been spending lately."

"New York is an expensive city," I protest, "I'd apologize if he were taking my calls."

"Yes, well, I might have made it so that they never actually go through," she says mildly. "I've been a bit miffed at you if you haven't noticed," she says when she sees the way I scowl at her.

"So you crashed a wedding to yell at me?" I ask incredulously.

"No," she spits, "I crashed a wedding that I should have been invited to –"

"You've spoken all of six words to Penelope since we left Watford – "

She pretends as if I've said nothing. "To find out if this was Snow's doing? Where is my favorite failed Chosen One anyway?" I jump forward before she can turn and catch sight of him. I don't have the energy to explain my breakup from Simon at the moment, especially with Mordelia around. She adores him more than any of the other girls, (possibly because she sees him as a large playmate. Which his is.)

"Simon had nothing to do with the move," I rush to explain, "I was invited to play at Juilliard, and Father and I decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up on."

"So you moved to the fucking _states_ to play the violin?"

Mordelia looks up gleefully. "Yeah Baz, the fucking states?"

"Language," Fiona and I reprimand her at the same time. She stomps her foot, frowning.

"But Auntie Fi said it."

"Auntie Fi should know better," I take the last of her cupcake and drop it on the table, looking up to Fiona with a quirked eyebrow. "Why don't you go say hello to Simon?" Her already bright eyes gleam at the idea. It must be an exciting day for her, first getting to scold both Fiona and me, as well as bother our residential golden idiot.

"Come with me," she takes my hand and gives an insistent tug, "now that you live in the fucking states," she meets my reproachful look with an impatient one of her own, "I'll need to know when you'll be returning so I can plan my birthday party."

"We'll come back whenever you want, Mordy," I flinch at my choice of we, but hope Fiona doesn't notice. She follows close behind us, silently stewing at being brushed off.

"Yes, but this year mum said I could have a birth week, so we'll have to coordinate schedules. I figured it would work when you're both on holiday." She nods sagely.

"Coordinate schedules?" I ask bewilderedly. "And what have you got in your schedule other than go to school and play with dolls?"

"I'm ten, Basilton, not two. I don't play with dolls," she scoffs, tossing up her chin haughtily. "Anyway, I like action figures and romance novels most, in that order."

"You've corrupted my sister," I say to Fiona, glancing over my shoulder at her as we all shuffle forward. Fiona simply shrugs, gliding past us and crossing the few feet still between Simon and us.

"Snow," she calls, pasting a smile on quickly. Simon startles, jumping up quickly and nearly pushing some waiter down. "Long time no see."

"Fiona?" His eyes move past her to where Mordy is still yanking me forward. "Mordelia?" Mordy releases me (I hear her mutter "deadweight" and fear for Fiona's influence on her) and sprints to him. He grins, bending to the ground and laughing as she topples them over. "You're actually happy to see me?"

Mordy props her chin up on his shoulder, squealing as he pushes them both back up onto their feet. "Why in the world wouldn't I be?" He glances over to me quizzically, but in usual Simon fashion, shrugs.

"How's old England doing without me?"

"Nothing's attacked any of us in ages, so I would say okay," Mordy answers, giggling when he buts her chin with his knuckles. "Oh, and we went to the house and I think I felt some of my magic."

His entire face practically glows with the news. "Really?" He asks, more to Fiona than Mordelia. "The hole's are filling up?"

Fiona shakes her head, just enough for only me to see. "Sure," I tap on her arm, too struck by that smile to let her wipe it away. He's moved past sunshine; he's a fucking supernova, exploding with joy and taking me down with him. Aleister on high, never has a black hole been so appealing.

"Father actually mentioned moving back in someday."

"That's great," Simon exclaims, giving Mordelia a celebratory spin. "Isn't it, Mordy?"

She rears her leg back as far as it goes and slams it into Simon's shin, covering her mouth and giggling as he drops her. "This is boring, can I go dance with Penny, Baz?"

"You intend on breaking more bones?"

She scratches the tip of her nose, taking a moment to consider my question. "We'll see what happens when I get out there."

"I suppose I can accept that," I nod, and she skips away from us. "Did you ruin the rest of my siblings too?" I question Fiona, glowering as she rolls her eyes.

"You can't blame me for them," she waves over a waiter, smiling as she grabs for the glass he holds.

"Um, I'm sorry ma'am," he starts, "that's someone else's drink."

She watches him through her eyelashes, taking a long sip and letting out an appreciative moan. "And now it's mine. Thanks." He looks confused as she shoos him away, walking haltingly back to the bar. She whirls back to me, the corner of her mouth twisting into a frown. "I hate scotch." She shoves the glass into my hand. "As I was saying, you can't blame me for your sister's behavior. I'm starting to think the cause may be the Grimm genes and I've had nothing to do with any of those."

"Right," I sigh, scrubbing at the back of my neck, "all I know is that Bella and Mari better bloody not be swearing like that one."

"Bugger off, Basilton. I know how to handle my own nieces."

"Okay," I clap my hands together, "you've done what you set out to do. I feel appropriately admonished. I assume you and Mordy are staying somewhere close by. Why don't you two sod off before she actually manages to maim someone and we meet for lunch tomorrow?"

"Basilton," she clucks, disappointed, "when have you known me to be so easily dispatched? Anyway, I had a two-part mission. The first was a scolding, and the second…" she trails off, twisting to Simon as if just remembering he's there. "You two plan on doing anything like this soon?"

Simon's eyes bulge out, and he begins to choke, thumping his fist to his chest in huge sweeping motions and letting out the largest coughs I've ever seen. It would be hysterical, if not for my own acute humiliation.

I take Fiona's elbow and practically haul her from the room, throwing back a look to Simon that I hope passes for apologetic. (His face turns an interesting shade of red. A part of me wonders what I'd have to _privately_ to get it back. It fits him.)

"Crowley, you would think that no one's ever asked a stable couple what their plans for the future are," she rips her arm from me, wincing theatrically.

"For all that is good and magical, why in the world would you ask that _now_?" I snarl once we're outside and far enough that no one will notice the way I bare my fangs at her. She's unperturbed by my anger, examining her nail before leveling me with a cool look. "Are there no more vampires in need of your attention?"

"There are plenty," she replies easily, "but only one at present that matters to me. What was all that about inside? You and Snow having trouble?"

"It wouldn't be any of your business if we were," I snap, curling my hands into fists. She cocks out a hip, settling all her weight onto her right leg and staring me down. And even though I tower over her, I can't help but feel like a child in that moment. "Fine, sorry. Things have been a bit complicated, yes."

"Well you better uncomplicate them, fast," she pulls something out of her bag, tossing it to me before I can get a good look at what it is. "I thought you might want to give these to him."

Something tightens in my chest when I open my palm. I don't have to recognize them to know what they are, who they belonged to. "They didn't burn, that night," she says softly because I can't speak. I can't think. I can't _breathe_. "Your father gave them to me for safe keeping, and we both decided that you may be ready to find them a new home."

My mother was a simple woman. Elegant, graceful, _good_ , but simple. The two wedding bands, one silver and the other a ring of small diamonds, they suited her.

I brush angrily at the tears I hadn't noticed forming. "He wouldn't take these from me even if I offered," I whisper. And it's terrible, because I can see it. Sparkling on his finger while he eats those fucking scones, caught between his teeth as he washes his hands. Pressed to my neck as we kiss, resting against my fingers as we hold one another. Another dream that I'll never have, another cosmic joke thrown in my face because Lord knows the universe has no problem doling those out.

"That sounds a bit more serious than complicated," she murmurs, stepping back when I go to give her back the rings. "No, they're yours now. Do with them what you will. Give them to Snow, pawn them, I don't very well care." She frowns. "Well, maybe don't pawn them. If they haven't gotten any use in the next decade or so I'll pass them along to Mordy."

I can't move with them still resting in my hand, mocking me with the promise of the future I threw away. It's not until Fiona takes them and slips them into my pocket that I finally look up. "Safekeeping," she says, and even with how annoying she is, I love her all the more for the small smile she gives me. "Complicated doesn't last forever, Basilton. And you've always had a way of making complicated work. You may need these yet, and I won't be getting my arse on a plan just to serve as a courier service, not again."

"Yeah," I agree distractedly. Even the weight of them in my pocket feels monumental. "Thanks."

She hums, and this time she takes my arm. "What do I have to do to get some food around here anyway?"

"Have brought a wedding gift," I force the rings from my mind, shove them into the small box that contains everything I can't deal with just yet. "And be in good favor with the bride."

"So I'll starve then?"

She looks so tragic, her bottom lip jutting out piteously, that I can't help my chuckle. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

Baz is busy with Fiona and Mordelia the rest of the reception, so I try to keep busy too. But there's only so much of Stacy I can take, and she's too focused on Steph to pay any attention to me anyway. Agatha's fun, but she doesn't want to dance and there isn't much else to do. I even try to do the whole maid of honor thing, but Penny isn't having any of it.

"Do you need me to hold your dress up for you while you pee? Maybe make you a takeaway plate so you don't forget to eat? I tried to watch that movie, you know with the fit guy from Grey's Anatomy? I'm not sure it helped." I pause to take a breath, and Penny covers my mouth with her hand, stopping me.

"First off," she starts, "thank you so much for the lovely offer, but I'll have to go with no. And secondly, never, _ever_ , propose to do anything with me in the bathroom. Ever. _Understood?"_ I nod, poking out my tongue and licking her palm until she yanks back.

"Snakes sake, Simon," she groans, groping around for a cocktail napkin and wiping her hand, "it's my wedding day. Would you mind holding off on the licking until tomorrow."

"No promises."

I'm so bored by the time I see Baz alone that I nearly jump him. _Accidentally_ , of course. "Hey," I say, breathless for some reason. He raises an eyebrow at me, and not for the first time today, I want to kiss every furry inch of it. "Where did Fiona and Mordy head off to?"

"Their hotel." He's got this soft sort of smile dancing across his lips. I'm not even sure he realizes it. I guess he's missed his family more than he's let on. "It was past Mordy's bedtime, even if she would have told you that she wasn't tired at all."

I grin, reaching down to rub at the bruise probably forming on my leg. "Seems she only gets more energy every time I see her."

He hums his agreement, raking his hands through his hair. "We're all going for lunch tomorrow if you'd like to join." He hesitates, but doesn't take it back like I thought he would. "At this point I think Mordy might like you more than she likes me."

"No way," I say. "Nobody could like anyone more than you." He ducks his head, but enough time hasn't passed for him to be able to hide his blush behind his hair. "Um, I also just wanted to say thanks," I add slowly, "for not telling them about us."

He clears his throat, his hand going to pat along his breast pocket. "Don't mention it."

"It's – uh, I just, I liked being a part of your family, even for a little while. I guess I'm not ready to say goodbye to all that just yet."

"You don't have to," he says, the space between his eyebrows creasing. "We should go see Bunce and Micah off," he juts his chin out, "I think they'll be leaving soon."

"Right," I nod, letting him walk forward so that my heart can slow. I can't remember the last time talking to him didn't make me feel as if I'm about to burst. I don't think they'll ever be a time from now on when looking at him doesn't twist my insides into a violent storm.

This love-of-my-life business is tricky. It shouldn't be, should it? It should be simple, as easy as my next breath, as natural as my next laugh. And watching my best friend run towards a carriage, her new husband in tow with the biggest smile I've ever seen, it looks like it is. But Baz and me have never been easy. Painful and bright and wonderful and exhausting and magical, yes. And maybe, in some fucked up world where everything sucks until it doesn't, that's okay.

He sneers as he picks a piece of rice from his hair, his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth, and it all takes some of the hurt from my chest.

"You're staring," he drawls, and I laugh. And maybe it's just enough that for right now, he doesn't have to think before he laughs right back.

A/N: As promised, here is another chapter for all you lovely, lovely people. Again, thanks so much to everyone who's followed, favorited, and reviewed! We're nearing the end of the road, so I'm gonna try and be more consistent, but please have patience with me if I forget again!


	21. Chapter 21

_**SIMON**_

Agatha doesn't have to go back to uni until the end of the week, so she stays with me while Micah and Penny are on their honeymoon. She says it because she needs a break from campus, but I think Penny might have asked her to hang around a bit during her holiday. As if I'm _that_ untrustworthy.

I think they also filed for renter's insurance, but I try not to read too much into it.

"What happened to the Simon who refused to wake before noon?" Agatha grouses as we walk up to my flat. My _old_ flat. Baz's flat. She shuffles closer into my side, protecting herself from the wind as it picks up.

"There's a lot we need to do today," I throw an arm around her shoulder and we huddle together as we run into the building, taking the elevator up and trying to get warm. "I just need to pick Mordy up, and then we'll be off."

"So not only is it freezing outside, but now we're on babysitting duty?"

"She's a great kid," I stoop over and fumble around for the spare key we kept hidden underneath the mat I forced Baz to buy, "we'll have an awesome time, I promise."

"We better," she pokes at my forehead, letting out a surprised squeak when I lunge at her, hooking my arm her neck and ruffling her hair.

"No, not an awesome time. We'll have the _best_ time," I grin, smacking away her swatting hand.

"God, Simon," she screeches, "it took me thirty minutes to curl my hair."

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you over all the fun we're going to have," I sing, catching her wrist with my tail before she has the chance to worm away from me.

Agatha's screams peter out as the door swings open and Baz arches an eyebrow at us. "Sorry to interrupt," he says, cocking his head to the side. I hold on to my grin, although it takes more effort than usual, and let Agatha go. "Mordy," he calls behind him, still watching us with an unreadable expression. "Simon's here."

Agatha's gaze darts between the two of us nervously and she steps around us. "I'm going to go look inside." She walks in and her eyes widen. "My God, this place is massive!"

"I'm sure you and Wellbelove will have a nice day," Baz says coolly, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms across his chest.

My hand inches forward, stopping a breath from his elbow. "It would be more fun with you," I let my arm drop, shrugging. Something flashes over his face, too quick for me to understand. "But yeah, I'm gonna take her over to NYU, and then see if Mordy wants to try some famous New York cupcakes."

"Magnolia's?"

I scoff, insulted. "Please Basilton, you offend me. Cupcake's Café. Want me to bring you back a vanilla?"

"I only eat Bohemian walnut, you know I only eat Bohemian walnut, and the only reason you asked me that is so that you can call me a posh git when I say that I want a Bohemian walnut cupcake with maple buttercream frosting and salted caramel filling, _only_."

"I was actually going to call you a pretentious wanker, but posh git works fine too."

He smiles, and a tension I hadn't realized settled between my shoulder blade loosens. "I...would have more fun if I was with you too," it comes out halting and unsure, but sincere nonetheless. And surprising. "Fiona's trying to help me figure out finances and classes and what the fuck I'll do once we all graduate."

I just nod, because if I open my mouth, I'll say that I should be a part of that conversation. I should be there to hold his hand while he decides whether he wants wall streets or waltzes, or to complain about my resume when we discuss jobs. He could remind me that I can't exactly put Chosen One on my CV, and I would kiss away his stupid smirk. "Um – I think – we should go."

Mordy sprints out, her face shiny and bright. "Simon, let's go already, we've been waiting _all_ day." I barely have enough time to turn before she's in the elevator and waving goodbye at Baz and I. Agatha comes up behind us, panting.

"I abhor children," she stoops over, her hands on her hips as she breathes hard. "Come on then Simon, unless you want to allow a ten-year-old girl on the streets of New York all on her own."

"Shit, yeah. Bye Baz."

"Snow," he says by way of goodbye, "Wellbelove."

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

I wonder what it's like to be able to just say things the way he does. Like it doesn't cost him anything. But Simon's always worn his heart on his sleeve. I can't blame anything but my own insanity for suggesting friendship instead of what I really want. (Because most sane people don't want to pin Simon Snow to the wall and fuck him until he can't see straight and there's no part of him that hasn't been touched, don't want to watch him sleep and make him laugh and feel his dancing heartbeat underneath icy palms). It's impossible to be his friend when he's all eager and honest and fucking delicious.

Especially with those damned rings toying with my head every night. (Who would have thought it would take jewelry to finally do my head in?)

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"And that's where your cousin and your brother decimated the other team, my team," Mordy dangles from around my neck, her feet finding purchase on my wings. "They're actually friends now. Maybe she could meet us for tea?"

"Does she like scones?" Ah, a girl after my own heart.

"She loves them, with extra butter too."

She leans forward until I can't see anything but brown curls and her mischievous gaze. "I suppose she sounds all right." She kisses my cheek and giggles when I blush. "But you're still my favorite."

"As are you, little Mordy."

"I'm hardly little," she crows, "right, Agatha?"

"Right," Agatha replies, blowing on her hands. "Simon, are we going inside anytime soon?"

I still want to show them the building where I aced my last final of the semester, I sort of made Quantum Physics my bitch, but I take pity on them. "Yeah, I'm hungry. Let's get a taxi and eat our weight in cupcakes."

"Real food first," Agatha warns, "Fiona said not to let you ruin her appetite or, and I quote, let her beautiful niece turn into a fatty mcfatpants like you."

"I'll remember that when I'm trying not to cry later today," I grimace, searching the streets to try and find a taxi. It's too cold for most people to be out though, so I figure we won't have to wait too long.

"Simon," we all turn at the sound of my name, Agatha's cheeks red and wind-bitten, and Mordelia fingers digging tight into my shoulders. Taylor jogs up to us, somehow sporting only a light jacket and a pair of jeans, oblivious to the cold. "Hey, where've you been hiding?" I try to think of the last time we hung out, but other than that night at the bar, I haven't seen much of him.

Seems a little strange that one of the reasons Baz and I imploded has kind of fallen to the back of my mind. And being friends with him shouldn't be much of a problem now that Baz and I are just friends too.

"I've had a lot to do," I smile, shuffling Mordy around so that she can't kick at my tail anymore. "My mate Penny just got married, so we've all been busy getting ready for that."

"Oh, yeah, Stacy mentioned that. Said she met someone, sounded like it was a good time."

"It was," Mordelia clears her throat loudly, and I roll my eyes.

"And who's this little cutie?"

"This is Mordy, and Agatha." Taylor leans forward, reaching out to pinch Mordy's cheek. He flinches and I think she might have bitten him.

"I have a brain you know, I'm not just here for you to look at," she says, her sweet, lilting voice heavy with disdain. I think she might have aged a few years in the months since we've been gone.

"Right," he shakes out his hand, his smile dimming. "Um, let's get a drink sometime, Simon?" He waits for me to nod before backing away slowly. "Looking forward to it." He flutters his fingers, winking as he turns.

"I don't like him," Mordy growls.

"Me neither," Agatha echoes, giving me a strange look. "We can discuss it some more once we don't have to worry about hypothermia."

"I think I can help with that," I take out my wand, squeezing Mordelia's ankle, and tap it to each of our arms before they can protest. " _ **Hot As Balls!"**_

" _Simon_ ," Agatha admonishes, "out of the hundreds of spells you could have used, must you have chosen that one around little ears?"

"It did the job, didn't it?" Mordelia's bad mood from earlier disappears, and there's that giggle that always manages to lift my spirits. "Now we're nice and warm-"

"And hungry, Simon." Mordelia whines. "Fly us, please?"

Agatha nearly jumps away from us, shaking her head and sending blonde hair tossing. "Definitely not. I'll get us an uber."

Mordelia shimmies up so she can whisper, "no fun," in my ear. I suck in my lips so that Agatha won't hear my laugh.

"Didn't think I would be watching two children," Agatha huffs, flipping her hair just as a car pulls up to the curb. "Let's go."

"Absolutely no fun," I agree, slapping my palm against Mordelia's, dropping her onto the back seat and staring out the window as we drive away.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"Actually call me every once in awhile," Fiona's got her arms wrapped around me so tight I can barely breathe, but I don't want her to let me go, so I hug her back just as tightly. Down by my legs, Mordelia sniffles, clinging to my knee and using my trousers to wipe her nose. "And maybe try to come home soon?"

"Well now that I'm confirmed in Mordy's schedule, I'll have to," I pat the top of her head, laughing as she slaps me away.

"I'm not a dog, Basilton," she says pitiably, "you can't pet me."

I crouch down and she throws herself at me. "I'll miss you too, you little brat."

"Next time you come home, make sure you bring Simon, okay?" My eyes go to Fiona's without my permission. She's watching me just as intensely as Mordelia, waiting for my answer.

"If he wants to come, he can," I decide, leaving it just vague enough to keep her from being disappointed. "Now, go on. You don't want to miss your flight."

Mordelia holds a hand out to Fiona, sighing unhappily as they begin their slow shuffle off to their gate. "Simon could fly us, and we wouldn't even have to pay for it."

"I know, sweet cheeks," Fiona says. "Hopefully he'll fly Baz out. There's nothing better than flying with the person you love." I don't know if she says it for Mordy's benefit, or my own. It still hits me just the same.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

With Penny gone, Agatha back in California, and Stacy doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who, I'm more than willing to hang out when Taylor calls. We make plans to head to a bar by school at the end of the week, and it's finally something to _do._

"Snow," Baz shouts, letting himself into Penny's place, tons of plastic bags in hand. For some reason, everyone just assumes I won't be able to feed myself. And okay, I did finish the last of the cereal yesterday and was dreading what I would do today, but I'm an _adult,_ I would have figured something out.

I spring up to him, smiling before I can stop myself. "What'd you bring?"

"Chinese takeaway for tonight," he waits for me to finish clapping, "and then the rest are just groceries. Fruits, vegetables," I groan and he laughs, "some ice cream."

"Wicked," I cry, lunging for the closest bag to me and rifling around. "You didn't have to get all of this."

He goes over to the kitchen and sets everything down. After tossing me a spoon, he starts unpacking the food. "Bunce would have my head if I let you starve." He opens the fridge, his lips ticking down into a frown. "Which you were apparently in danger of."

"I would have gone shopping," he raises an eyebrow and I shrug, "eventually," I add. Mm, Cherry Garcia. My favorite. "You want some?"

"Thanks, but I think I'll go have grown up food back at the flat."

"You can stay," I suggest around a mouthful of ice cream. "If you want."

He hesitates, his hand stilling on the last bag of frozen pastries. "I've got places to be," he says finally, "but I'm sure I can spare a minute or two."

I grin, wagging my spoon at him. "You give me three and I may even share my ice cream with you." He bends over the back of the couch, shooting me a look. "Fine, I won't be sharing any of my ice cream and you'll deal with it."

"Sounds about right," he falls into the chair, and it's the first time in forever that he doesn't wince away from me when he notices how close we are. "Pass that spoon, Snow, or I won't be held accountable for my actions."

I growl but it only makes him laugh, and he's snatching the cartoon from me and searching for bits of ice cream without cherry before I can stop him. "You're lucky I'm feeling generous today."

"Yes," he says wryly, "feeling quite generous with the ice cream _I_ bought."

"No one cares who bought it as long as I claim eater's rights."

"Eater's rights?"

I nod, brushing at a wayward curl on my forehead. "Sort of like squatter's rights, but for food."

"You are a particular brand of idiot that's yet to be scientifically identified."

I lean into him, plucking the ice cream from his hands as his eyes widen. "You say the sweetest things to me."

"Did you just flirt with me so that you could steal back the ice cream?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

He shakes his head, sagging back into the couch and sulking. He can't keep it up though, the corners of his mouth quirking up every few seconds before he remembers to frown.

With the ice cream drooping down slightly, I consider him carefully. "Baz?"

"Yes, those few moments of silence were lovely," he murmurs, his eyes slipping shut, "why don't we keep it up?"

"Come on," I whine, "I have a question."

"Fine. Yes, Simon?"

"This is – this is good, right? You like being friends?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" His head twists to me. It's not fair, how beautiful he is, especially now. His eyelashes curl against his cheeks, and his lips, _Crowley_ , his lips, I don't think I've ever seen anything that soft. "Why do you ask?"

"I just – even if we're – even if we're not a _we_ , I want to be in each other's lives. Like, forever. If that's alright with you."

"I suppose that won't kill me," he says, not even trying to hide his boredom. But his eyes flash open and they're bright and happy, although it might have been planned because the ice cream is out of my hand in seconds.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

He's breathing through his mouth. And his lips, pink and wet and probably sweet, are parted and just begging to be kissed. They'd be cold, and kissing a cold Simon Snow has been one of my favorite hobbies for a while. Fuck, it's my only hobby.

"I won't be buying you anymore ice cream."

His tongue peeks out, trailing along his bottom lip like we're in a damn porno. (And yet it would be _inappropriate_ for me to plan the many different ways for me to make it so that neither of us can walk for a week. Doesn't seem right.) "Why?" He moans, and it goes straight to my crotch. It's an interesting thing, trying to decide if it's my heart or my dick that aches for him more. Right now, it's just about even.

"Because, as an adult, you should be able to purchase your own dessert."

"Whatever," he's got a pout in his voice, "I think your three minutes are over."

I pretend that I don't notice the way he slumps into me. I pretend that I don't love it. "But I'm comfortable."

"Not too comfortable I hope," he whispers, and his tail comes up to jam into my side. Yelping, I leap up and into his lap, my cheeks burning as his arms wrap around my waist and his forehead falls against my back, quaking with laughter.

"Merlin," I jump up, shaking away the feeling of his skin against mine, "not funny, Simon."

"I thought it was pretty hysterical," he says, feigning innocence. Trying not to tremble, I go over to my jacket and shove it on, too embarrassed to be annoyed and too annoyed to be embarrassed. "No Baz, stay."

"I said three minutes. It's been five."

"Come on, Baz. I'm sorry."

Jerking the door open, I throw a quick sneer over my shoulder. "Fuck off, Snow." I can still hear his damned laugh as I go down the stairs.

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

"Just give me, like, half an hour," I plead, backing away from Micah as his gaze zeroes in on my phone. "Let me call Simon and then I'm all yours."

"You're already all mine," he says slowly, sending a flush rocketing up my neck. "And I'm not letting a damn phone take you away."

"But Micah," I whine, tilting my head in a way that I hope garners sympathy, "Simon is all alone, and he's very rarely ever all alone. I be daft not to worry."

"Simon," Micah says back with the same teasing whine in his voice, "isn't the one planning to do filthy, _filthy_ , things to you on the beach, now is he?" Each word drips from his tongue in that dangerous way that reminds me that not all danger is bad. "Is he?" He repeats, his smile dark even with the patient way he waits.

I swallow hard, shaking my head as he takes step after step closer to me.

"No, he's not." He's close enough now to wrap his fingers around my wrist, stroking his thumb against my skin as he steals the phone away. "And who is?"

"You are?" There's a tremor in my voice, the fault of my hammering heart, trembling knees and the wave of _want_ coming from everywhere he touches me.

He drops down, giving me a wicked look before he runs his nose over the exposed strip of skin between the top of my swimsuit bottoms and my shirt. "Once more for the kids in the back." His lips brush against the inside of my thigh and I nearly collapse.

"You are," I gasp, earning an approving hum.

"Now," he pops back up, pulling me flush against him, "who exactly did you need to call?"

He snogs me silly, wiping my mind of anything but him with the drag of his tongue against mine and the pull of my lip between his teeth. When he finally loosens his grip, I'm so dazed I can't even remember what day it is. "What?"

He laughs, burying his rough chuckle into the nape of my neck. "You were going to make a call earlier."

"That can wait," I nudge him away, my shoes already in hand as I throw the door open and start for the beach.

Even with my head start, he's behind me in seconds, his arms wrapping around my waist and his laugh in my ear as we go tumbling into the sand.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"So, what happened to that guy you were dating, Bert?"

I scowl as Taylor takes a swig of his beer. "It's Baz, and we're not together anymore." Taylor lifts an eyebrow, and it's all wrong. "How'd you know something happened between Baz and me?"

"I think Stacy mentioned something or another," he says off-handedly, swiping a new beer over to me when I finish my own. "You dating again yet?"

"Why would I?" I frown, genuinely puzzled. My knee jiggles underneath the table. "It's only been…" Three months. _Three_ months? Has it really only been three months since me and Baz kissed? Slept in the same bed? Woken up with my wing in his mouth and my tail around his ankle? Feels longer.

He laughs, eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's what people do when they're single. It's kind of the only cure to being alone."

"I mean, I guess I never really considered myself as single," I drag my finger along the rim of my glass. "Baz and I are still friends, he's still in my life."

"But he's not your boyfriend," Taylor reminds me. I'm sure he's trying to be helpful, but I wish he'd just shut _up._ "I could help you out, if you want?"

"Help me out?" There's something about this that doesn't feel right. I don't know; maybe it's just because the last time we were here my relationship basically ended. Negative memories and all that. "Like set me up with someone?"

"Something like that," he smiles, sliding his chair closer to mine. "Why don't we head over to my place?" He lowers his hand over mine, his expression faltering slightly when I jerk away.

"Wh – what?"

"I've got scotch, music, a bed. All the makings for a good night."

And I couldn't feel like a bigger git. Because Taylor, my _friend_ , my great stand against some make believe oppressor, is smirking at me like I'm a done deal. Like I'll hop onto his lap, pants off and lubed up.

Agatha was right. _Mordy_ was right.

Baz was right. _Shit_ , Baz was right.

I thought I was protecting some new friendship. I thought I was finally putting my foot down, finally saying no to Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. And for what? For _fucking_ what?

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

I don't lock the door anymore, not with Stacy being as forgetful as she is. If I'm woken up one more time by her and Steph banging on the door, giggly and giddy and drunk, I'll drain them both. And then I'll have to feel bad about that, which I have absolutely no time for. I could handle my course load when it was all I had, but now with Simon and I being…whatever the fuck we are, I'm drowning. (And yet, I can't think of a time over these last few months when I've been happier.)

…

The first time Stacy asked why she could just let herself in now, she plopped up onto my bed, rested her chin on my thigh and waited patiently for me to speak. And I couldn't for the life of me recall why I'd hated her. She's so much like Mordelia, just older and louder and more cynical, that I feel her absence like an ache. (I don't think I can tell either girl how much I miss them. I'll die before I hear the end of it.)

"I could've been some pervert, you know." She said, smelling of tequila and strawberry lip-gloss. "What's the point of locks if you keep the door open?"

"You wake me up when you come stomping in here."

She poked at my calf. "I'm as light as a ballerina, I rarely ever stomp." She paused, slapping away a curtain of black hair from her cheek. "You having that dream again?" She asked softly. "The one about your mom?"

My head snapped up from my pillow, and she scampered back, her usual bravado dimming. "What do you know about that?"

"You say her name in your sleep. Kind of like you say Simon's. Sort of sad, but sweeter than I've ever heard you say to anyone when you're awake." She shrugged sheepishly, pushing at the sleeve of her shirt. "It's cold in the guest room. Sometimes it's nice to come in and hang here."

I didn't have it in me to yell at her, so I laid back and closed my eyes. "I'm trying to sleep, Stacy."

"Okay," the bed shifted as she got up, and she must not have taken off her shoes, because they echoed across the room. "Well, I'm here. If you ever want to talk."

…

I didn't. Not the first time she came in, or the second. But she kept coming, sometimes talking about her night, sometimes falling asleep curled against my side. And it's not until the tenth night, her sequined shirt rubbing against my hip and her head resting on my elbow, that I start talking.

About my mom, and the way I can almost see her now. She's fuzzy, but I can make out her rings, shinier than any diamond has the right to be. And how she always wants to talk about Simon. About how his hair isn't quite golden anymore, not since the dye. But it's still cotton candy soft, and curls in that same way, like it's made of nothing but sunshine and spun sugar. And how his laugh is ridiculous. No man should have a laugh like his, like Mozart and some terrible joke mixed together that only I can hear. About how you never know how much time you get until there's no more time, and then hair like spun sugar and laughter like music and a smile like sin and salvation won't matter.

She never interrupts, just listens to me talk and talk and talk until it's well into the night and my eyes sting when they're opened and burn when they're closed. And when I'm done, when every thought I've had since I kicked him out the apartment comes spilling out, she doesn't say a thing. (Stacy, residential loud mouth, rendered speechless. If I weren't so preoccupied, I would have taken the time to enjoy it.)

No, instead she stands and goes over to where I've got the rings hidden. She considers them, and then strokes her fingertip along the velvet box I bought when I couldn't help myself. "Get your fucking ass out of bed, and go get your boy."

"Stacy, it's-"

"Don't want to hear it," she waves a hand, silencing me. "I never thought you were stupid, but maybe you are because I know that you've done this with Penny and Steph and now me apparently."

"Excuse me?"

"Steph and Penny, little nice bitches that they are, probably tried to coddle you because of the 'tough time' you were having, but obviously you need some tough love. You can talk about just being Simon's friend, or being some self-sacrificing piece of shit, but I don't care. All I know is that you love Simon, Simon is hopeless for you, and listening to you two whine about one another is seriously boring."

"I'm being scolded by the girl an hour away from a hangover." Coffee. I need coffee. "Bloody extraordinary."

"Be snarky all you want," she rolls her eyes, "but you know I'm right. And the longer you dream of your mother's blessings for you and Simon, the more you hurt yourself. And the more you hurt him." She skips back over to me, pressing her lips to my forehead. "I'm off to bed, cousin and maybe you should sleep too. Help you with some major life decisions?"

"Get out, Stasia." She swings her hips, winking at me from over her shoulder. "And close my damned door."

That dark-haired devil woman's words spiral through my head, lilting and soft and so cloying that it sticks it in my throat.

She doesn't know anything about me and Simon, nothing. And this is me finally being the hero, saving Simon from the destruction that is Basilton Pitch.

But…maybe I don't need to be so noble. Simon Snow saved the fucking world, he gave up his magic so that the World of Mages would survive. He doesn't need saving, not by me, not by anyone.

I've ruined so much of our relationship already though. I'm the one who ended it. I'm the one who kicked him out, who didn't beg him back even though that's all I ever wanted.

But…when he leaned against me, when he wrapped his arms around me, when he smiled at me, it didn't feel like there was anything unsalvageable about our relationship.

"Fuck you, Stacy," I snarl, pushing up from the bed and getting the rings. "You wonderful pain in my arse."

I just hope it's not too late.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

"Si-" His arm snakes around my waist, and it's like sticking my hand on a burner. I yank away from him, just catching my balance before I tumble onto the floor.

"Don't," I growl. He says something, but I can't hear it over the sound of my heartbeat. It's racing past my ears, tormenting me to the steady pulse of _Baz, Baz, Baz._ "I thought we were friends."

"We are," he blinks, surprised by my reaction, "doesn't mean we can't be more, right?" He steps towards me, bright eyes glittering with confusion when I scramble away from him.

"Shit," I breathe, "leave me alone, okay Taylor? Don't text me, don't call me, don't ask Stacy about me." I shove a twenty at him, running out the door before he has the chance to reply.

I think about waving down a taxi, but I threw the last of my cash him when I left, and there's too much traffic anyway, it'll take too long. So instead, I take off running. And when I get to an empty stretch of road with clear sidewalks, I fly.

I collapse in front of his, _our_ , building in a heap. "Shit," I hiss. I really need to keep in better shape if I'm going to be flying this much. I'm going to be bruised later, and not in the good way.

I mean, like, because of Baz.

Like, because I want to be.

How the _hell_ can I talk to him with my thoughts all scattered?

Whatever, I'll figure it out.

I bound up the stairs, ignoring the elevator, and run to the door, giving my pockets a few pats as I search for a key. And then I consider kicking down the door. Baz'll be pissed but I can make it up to him.

But before I can, because fate is on my side, the door opens and Baz appears, staring at the ground as he shoves something into his jacket pocket and whistling to himself.

"Baz," I scream, and he startles, his head darting up and a quick gasp ripping through his throat. "Sorry," I lower my voice, "didn't mean to yell. Baz," I try again, at a whisper.

"Snow," he says slowly, his face pinching with confusion. "I was just coming to see you. I wanted to – "

"Can it wait?" I ask quickly, pushing past him and over to the couch. He follows after me, and I can tell he's got that little frown on his face when he's trying to act as if knows what's happening. "There's something I need to say, and if I don't say it right now then I'll never say it. Sit," I gesture wildly to the couch, bouncing impatiently as he inches towards the seat closest to me. "Quickly, _please_."

"What's this about?" Crossing one leg over the other, he watches me while he sucks on his fangs.

"Okay," I can't stand still, not with him ogling me, so I begin to pace, long strides in front of the television. "So, I had drinks with Taylor, right? And, like, don't jump to any conclusions or anything, all right? So, yeah, we were there and he tried to hit on me. And it got me thinking about what I said, and how all of this shit started between us. And I – "

"Jesus, Simon, the point. I'm going to need it soon."

"I was _wrong_." I cry, combing my fingers through my hair. "About it all. I don't know how I got it so wrong, but I did." With it out there, I feel myself deflating, that urgency from earlier disappearing as the urge to cry takes its place.

Baz stands, chewing on his bottom lip. I'd appreciate it on any other day, him trying to stay quiet so I can get everything out, but Crowley, it's distracting. "Look," I sigh, "it always felt like I had no control in anything. With my magic, or the Mage, I'd only have two terrible choices, to fight or to die, but everyone acted like it was all in my hands. And then we kissed, and suddenly I had this great third option. And it felt like no matter what I lost, or how confused I was about everything else in my life, this was good. This was the only thing that felt _right._

"And then we got here and it started to feel like I only had two shit choices again. Lose you or change everything. And it was all happening so fast and I panicked. And I blamed you. And you, being the stubborn git you are, just made it so much harder. And that was all well and good when we both sort of hated each other, but now, with you buying me food and being my friend, it's not _enough_."

"Simon – "

"I don't want to be your friend, Baz. I don't want to make small talk and share taxis and talk to you about my next boyfriend. I want you and I want us, and I want us to be so loved up that you won't even be mad that Taylor is probably gay and that you were right, and that I'm an idiot."

"Simon – "

"And I get it now, you weren't trying to control me. You were just trying to protect me in some stupid, jealous way. And I love you even more for it, because somehow, someone as smart as you loves someone like me. Or at least, you used to."

" _Aleister_ , Simon – "

"So, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. All the angst and shit, it was all my fault. And even if you don't feel that way about me anymore, I just wanted you to know."

He arches an eyebrow, gliding over to me. "You done?"

"Yeah," I gulp, "that was about it."

"Wonderful," he snarls, latching on tight to my arms and driving me back against the wall. "Before you spent the last ten minutes of my life rambling, I was going to tell you that I didn't want to spend another second away from you."

I gawk at him, grasping for words and finding none.

"No response?" He asks, cocking his head to the side. "After that lovely speech of yours, I just assumed you were feeling chatty."

"You're a bastard," I growl back, surging forward and smashing my mouth against his. And somehow I manage to catch him by surprise, mid-sneer. And I concentrate on that feeling of triumph for all of five seconds before I focus on the most important thing to ever happen.

I'm kissing Baz.

 _I'm kissing Baz._

And it feels as if I was dying before and he's brought me back to life. Like he's coursing through me like a painkiller, chasing away the last three months of hurt. Like the world was tilted on it's axis and his lips righted it all.

I can't think of any other way to describe it, how he feels. I'll just do that later, I guess.

"Oh Merlin," he murmurs between kisses, "you're so fucking cute. Marching in here and talking a mile a minute and, _God_."

"I'm not cute," I frown, tightening my hold on his hips. I could die holding his hips, and I'd be perfectly fucking content. "I'm hot."

"So hot," he laughs, sucking hard on my neck. Crowley, Arthur, Morgan and Merlin too. "Fucking hot."

"And funny."

He pulls back slightly, his eyebrows raised. And I'm nearly catatonic with glee because this time when I think of kissing them, I can. "The funniest."

"But never cute." I fist my hands in his hair and pull. "Hot, and funny, and sexy, don't forget sexy. But never cute."

"Simon," I yelp when he heaves me over his shoulder, "you're fucking adorable. Deal with it." I think of arguing, but then we're in the bedroom and he's slamming me down on the bed and there's not much room left for thinking.


	22. Chapter 22

_**BAZ**_

He's sleeping, spent from his rambling and the last hour of this, us. It's irritating how hard it is to keep from smiling every time a faint snore escapes his parted mouth or his nose twitches. A good dream. I drink him in because it's the first time in months where I feel as if I have permission to.

"Simon," I murmur, propping my chin up with my hand. He's so peaceful, but something's missing. He's not all him until he's in the middle of a story, eyes wide with excitement, or holding back a growl, beautiful in his annoyance. "Aleister, you have a lifetime to sleep. Wake up."

"Sod off," he sighs sleepily, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I distinctly remember you threatening to push me off the bed for waking you up."

"You can even do that. Just open you eyes, love."

He hums, turning into me and pressing his face to my chest. "It's been so long since you've called me love." I shiver when his lips ghost against my collarbone. "I've missed it."

"I've missed you."

"You broke up with me," he reminds me.

"You'll have to take on the role of smart one in the relationship, I suppose."

He scoffs. "I've always been the smart one. You're the dashing Bond-villain one."

"Dashing?" I ask, sliding down until we're nose to nose. "You know I'm a sucker for sweet talk."

He wiggles in closer to me, and suddenly I don't feel as giddy. I want him open-mouthed and panting and falling apart. "Handsome."

"Yes."

"Gorgeous."

"More

"Fuck me."

"Took you long enough."

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

I don't think I realize how much I missed this until he's got me pressed against the bed, all fangs and silky hair and smooth skin. And if he's going to be doing such dirty things with his hips, I really need to catch up because this is a fucking relationship of equals.

He kisses down my stomach, finding his way down to my waist and nuzzling his nose there.

"Aleister Baz, stop playing with your food." I'm particularly pleased with that one, and he's got a smirk on, so I'm just as funny as I think I am. But then I start thinking of how we could have been doing this for months, how much time we've wasted, and my breath sort of hitches in my chest. And he can tell, because the kisses stop, and he's just holding me, murmuring something in my ear.

"What're you thinking?"

"I love you."

"I know," he sighs, "it's almost irritating how much I love you too." He chuckles and it vibrates through me. "Only you, Simon Snow, could make being in love infuriating."

"What can I say?" I shrug. "I like to commit." He tosses his head back and laughs, free and happy and like velvet in my veins.

Crowley, his laugh is like crack. Or what I assume crack is like. Like good, but bad, and all the things in between. And he's wearing a wicked smile, so maybe I'll just store away those thoughts on drugs till later.

"Wait," I gasp, before I can get too distracted. "Kissing moratorium."

"I told you to stop reading Bunce's dictionary," he growls, tearing himself from me with an amusing amount of effort. "What is it?"

"You know why I got so pissed with you," pulling my knees into my chest, I give him a warning look when he tenses, ready to pounce. "Why were you being such a wanker?"

He flops back onto the bed, staring hard at the ceiling. "I never really thought about it."

"There's nothing in this world you haven't 'really thought about'," I protest. "Come on, you can tell me."

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes, and sighs. "You weren't the only one with insecurities, Snow." He thumbs at the tattoo, red and sensitive from the time I bit him. I've never had the best grasp on irony, but I think that's it? "You called me evil, and I just, I thought maybe you finally figured out that you deserved better than me. And Taylor was hot and uncomplicated and the second I saw how into you he was, I figured it was only a matter of time."

My stomach sinks, past my feet, past the floor, digging through to the center of the earth. This really is all my fault. "I'm sorry."

"Don't," he shakes his head. "That was all about me, and I took it out of on you and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. I always assumed that this would end in flames. I just didn't think there would be an after." His hand cups my neck, pulling me close. "And unfortunately for the both of us, you won't be able to get rid of me again."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

His kisses a harsh and biting, his hand sliding along my lower back and tugging me down hard against him. "Wait," wheezing, I pull back from him warily.

"What, Simon?"

"Does this mean I have to get a tattoo as well?"

This time, he doesn't bother telling me to shut up. He just does it himself.

* * *

 _ **BAZ**_

"Baz."

"Hmm?" I hum, rolling onto my side and taking him with me.

"Baz"

"Simon."

" _Baz_."

"Crowley, _what_ Simon?"

"Nothing, I just like saying your name."

"Marry me." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don't think I would have wanted to. Simon sits up, the sheet falling off his chest. I kiss a mole on his stomach, right above his belly button.

"If this is a joke, it's very poorly done."

"I'm not joking." I push myself back until I'm resting against the headboard. He leans over to meet me, and his curls tickle my chin. "This is a purely selfish decision, Snow. These last few months, not having you, have been the worst of my life. I don't plan on doing it ever again, not if I can help it."

"No offense Baz," he squirms, "but I can't exactly tell Penny that you proposed because I blew your mind in bed after some all night shagathon."

Disentangling myself from him, I get up and go over to where I dropped my jacket earlier, ruffling through the pockets.

"You, Chosen One, never learned how to listen to anyone." I tap a finger against the box before setting it down in front of him. He gets onto his knees, breathing hard as he picks it up gently. "I wanted to give it you earlier, but you wouldn't stop talking."

"You're serious about this?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't."

"It's right gay, marrying another bloke."

Rolling my eyes, I gesture around us. "No more so than what we just did."

"Three times."

"You're a child."

"And you're the love of my life," he says back, "so yes, I'll marry you. Let's go do it now."

I push him back, lifting an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sure," he tucks a matted strand of hair behind my ear, "it would be, like, a holiday elopement. We should go to Vegas and get married. Like, now. Or in like fifteen minutes." His eyes drop past my waist, and a flush fills his cheeks. "Or maybe thirty."

Like a dog in heat, my boyfriend. (Or my fiancée, I guess. Fuck, I've got a _fiancée_. Me and Simon are getting _married_.)

"I will not marry you after your self proclaimed sexcapade, Snow."

"I'll shower," he stares at me as if I'm mad. "Obviously."

"That's not the issue," I roll my eyes. Is it possible for him to have been lobotomized over the last three months? (And am I insane for thinking it makes him even cuter?)

"Well then why can't we get married now?"

"Because we can't."

"But it's almost Christmas!" He whines, flopping his arms back against the bed. "And it would be the most wicked present you could ever give me!"

I prop a pillow up behind me, taking a long pull from my water bottle before handing it over to him. "Simon, we've just spent the last few months apart for idiotic reasons." I reach down and poke at his lip before it can form a pout. "So, we need to talk. And sort everything out. And maybe drill it into our brains that no matter what, nothing is more important than us being together."

"And after all this talking, then we'll be married?"

"As long as your answer doesn't change."

"It won't," he says confidently. "Can we still be engaged while we talk?"

I nod, tangling my feet with his. He shudders (my toes are ice compared to his) but doesn't move away.

"And this, I lean forward, dragging my tongue along his neck. "We can do this while we talk." He purrs, and it becomes my life goal to hear that sound every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every damned day for the rest of my life. "And how about this?" I mouth at his jaw and the noise that explodes from the back of his throat goes down my spine like lightening.

"Definitely," he breathes. "And this?" He finally finds my lips, kissing me like he's got nothing else to do for the rest of eternity.

"Insatiable," I murmur, feeling around for his hand and intertwining our fingers together.

"Said the vampire," he sings.

* * *

 _ **SIMON**_

So we talk. We talk more than I've ever talked to another person in my entire life. Between kisses and breaks for food, I say more words than I thought humanly possible. I apologize for my temper, he apologizes for his stubbornness. We pick apart the way Baz got us here, about what he should have changed and how important honesty is or whatever.

I don't tell him that I really don't care anymore. He needs this, and it makes sense, us making sure that nothing this stupid ever pulls us apart again. Still, I'd rather have Baz with mistakes than no Baz at all.

And when my mouth is sore and dry, and I can barely stay awake, I curl into his side and fall asleep.

It's the best fucking night I've had in a long time.

* * *

 _ **PENELOPE**_

"We can never leave again," I hiss, slamming the taxi door shut and grabbing onto Micah's hand.

"I don't know why you're so worried," he says, squinting up at the sun. You'd think that after two weeks of the stuff he'd be more used to it, but I don't say anything. I love the little crinkle he gets in the corner of his eyes, maybe more so since becoming Penelope Bunce-Acevedo. "Simon's a grown man, and he'll have had to move out eventually anyway."

"Simon's a man child," I correct him, my foot tapping irritably as we wait for the elevator. "A missing man child who needs to be found."

"And why would Baz know where he is?" He crowds up behind me, huffing out a chuckle as I try to swipe him away. "Unless he's eaten him."

"He was in charge of making sure Simon didn't burn down the flat," I pinch at his arms when they encircle around my waist. "And until I know that Simon is home and safe, there will be none of this."

"Yes, dear," he hums, brushing his mouth against my earlobe.

"I'm serious, Micah."

"Of course, sweetheart."

"You're not taking me seriously."

"I am," he laughs, "but I think you might be overreacting just the tiniest bit. Simon can take care of himself. And I'd really like to christen our bed as a newly married couple."

I turn to him, patting his chest appeasingly. "And we will," I promise, "just as soon as I make sure Simon is alive."

"Interesting way to seduce your husband," in one smooth motion, he lifts me from the ground, catching my legs over his arm and walking forward confidently. "But I can agree to those terms and conditions."

"Micah," I mean to sound annoyed, but it comes out as a giggle, "put me down."

"I'm going to walk you across the threshold of an apartment, whether it's ours or Baz's." He winks and I have to think hard before I can find Simon's name in my head. "I'm a gentleman."

"Fine, but if you want to get back to our bed any time soon, you're going to have to move a lot quicker."

"Don't need magic for that," he takes off in a gallop, his grin widening at the sound of my squeak. We make it down the hallways faster than should be allowed, and he only stops long enough to kick the door open.

"Micah," I gasp, slapping my hand to my mouth as it flies of the hinges. " _ **Good As New!**_ " He sets me down, wearing a mischievous smile that makes me think he'd do it again if it meant getting out of here sooner.

"Come on," he says with a wave of his wrist, "you wanted to find Simon Snow? Let's find us a Simon Snow."

"You're impossible."

"And you're cute," he shoots back, pleased with himself and his comeback. "Now, go on." It's even more difficult to hold onto my glare when he slaps a hand against my arse, but somehow I just manage it.

It's only until Micah's far enough away that I notice something off about the room, far too messy to have been left purposefully by Baz. And Lord help me if the two of them have gotten themselves into separate bits of trouble because I don't have the energy or focus to find them both.

Numpties? No there aren't any in the cities. They usually keep to themselves in the forests, at least in America.

Goblins? Handsome devils haven't bothered us much since graduation, but I wouldn't put it past those fools to go searching for a distraction, if only to avoid dealing with their relationship.

Snake's sake, those idiots have gone and gotten themselves kidnapped by goblins. How in the world will I be able to go to Micah on our first official weekend as a married couple back home and tell him that we've got to go save Baz and Simon?

And classes start in a two weeks!

"Baz," I call, trying to stay calm. I won't be able to think of a solution if I'm frantic. "Where are you?" I check the bathroom first, frowning at the state it's in. Merlin, at least he put up a fight. Thankfully, Stacy isn't home. I hope I can count on her to be alright, I can't wrap my head around having to protect the entirety of our group of misfits. "All of Simon's things are missing and it looks as if he hasn't been to the flat in a few days."

By the time I get to his room, my fists are clenched and I'm ready for anything. "Ba – Holy Hermione, Baz!" Whirling around, I shut my eyes, giving both Baz and Simon a chance to…make themselves decent? Although I don't think there's anyway to ever, ever be decent after what they were doing.

"Rodgers and fucking Hammerstein, Penny, ever heard of knocking?" Simon is scrambling around for his pants. I think of mentioning that I saw them back in the living room, draped artfully over the lamp Baz insisted on buying, but I'll be damned if I turn around.

"This is what I deserve for not locking the fucking door," Baz, with everything important thankfully covered, comes marching up to me and clasps my arms. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else? Anywhere else?"

Ripping myself from his grasp, I take a good look at him. And then wince. He's definitely been better, covered in bruises vaguely the size of Simon's mouth, and scratch marks. He looks as if he's just barely survived hurricane Simon, and he's never been happier.

"I haven't been gone for that long," I shake my head, finally turning and glowering at Simon. "Two weeks. Two weeks ago you were making puppy dog eyes at one another and being terribly pathetic. And now you're doing," I gesture wildly at the disaster area formerly known as Basilton's bed when words fail me, "this?"

"It's fairly new," Simon shrugs, coming to stand behind Baz and leaning up onto his tiptoes so that he can rest his chin on Baz's shoulder. "Like, happened three nights ago new. Like, you just interrupted our attempt to get into the double digits…new."

"Simon," Baz exclaims, "I really must get you acquainted with the concept of too much information."

"Please," I agree emphatically, "please do that. Now, even." And then, once the initial shock of them together and Simon's bare arse wears off, I can really absorb them. Simon, with his swollen mouth and twinkling eyes, Baz, who's taken some of Simon's energy and can't seem to contain it all, the way they gravitate towards one another. How happy they are, finally.

And I lunge at them, hooking their necks with my arms and pulling them into me.

"Aleister, Bunce, could you at least wait until I've got a shirt on before you get all sentimental?" He says from around a mouthful of hair, but there's a smile in his voice. He couldn't mask it even he wanted to.

"Shut up," Simon and I say simultaneously, grinning at each other from around Baz's pale shoulders. "And take it."

I don't hold on for too long, it's impossible to ignore their impatience. As much as they love me, and Baz does love me no matter how he might protest, they've got months to make up for. And I have a husband waiting for me.

"Bleach everything," I drop my arms, "I don't want to know where you two have done it, and I never want to know, as long as you clean up."

"Whether or not we disinfect our apartment is none of your business, Bunce," Baz says exasperatedly, but he practically glows at the word our.

Simon pokes at his side. "We'll clean up, promise. But, maybe don't sit on the couch. Or the kitchen counter. Or the TV stand."

"Christ," I giggle, "we're not staying long anyway. I can bring the rest of your stuff over for you later on."

"That'd be great," he smiles, already beginning to usher me out the door. I suppose I could have taken the hint a little earlier. "Thanks, Penny."

"No problem," Simon greets Micah with a nod and a grin. "I will be expecting details later on."

"Oh, most definitely." He laughs, fiddling with the doorknob when I turn back to him and take his chin in hand.

"You're happy?" I ask quietly, searching his face for any reason I should stay. He won't be able to handle being hurt like he was when he and Baz ended it, and I won't allow that to happen again, not if I can help it.

He tilts his head to the side, touching my hand with his own. "I am." He says. "You don't have to worry about me or Baz ever again. I swear."

"I'm holding you to that," I say sternly, giving him one final hug before Baz peeks his head out and glares at us.

"Snow, if your arse isn't back in that bed in the next five seconds, I'm eating Micah and Bunce for breakfast," he sneers. "At least then maybe we won't be interrupted."

"Keep him in line, yeah?" I whisper, Simon's answering laugh settling warm in my stomach. "He's gotten pretty insufferable in your absence."

"Will do," he assures me, "now get out."

Micah envelops me and nearly hauls me out before I can say anything else, and soon we're walking back to the apartment. "Can I count that as one of my wedding presents?" I wonder, feeling particularly light now that I know everything will be okay.

"Sure," he leans over, kissing my cheek, "as long as I can take credit for it."

"Absolutely not," whirling around, I throw my arms around his neck, "your present is back at the flat, and I cannot wait to open it."

"Yeah?" He grins, and for the second time today, my feet fly out from underneath me and there's a devilish glimmer to his already mischievous gaze. "Well, can't let Simon and Baz have all the good sex. To the apartment!" He hollers, taking off in a light jog. I try to seem reproachful as I bounce along, but my best friends are delirious with happiness and I've got a lifetime to plan with Micah. I'm living a pretty fantastic life.

Even if I'm surrounded by imbeciles.


	23. Chapter 23

_**BAZ**_

"I don't want a party," Simon whines, throwing himself back onto the bed. Turning, I try to hold back a sigh, walking over to him and wiggling my fingers until he leans forward and takes them.

"Simon," I gasp, finding myself off balance as he tugs me into him. I land on him with a grunt, barely enough time to catch my breath before he's got me pinned onto my back, his wings cocooning us.

"I don't want a party," he repeats softly, his tip of is nose grazing over mine. "Just you, with a lot less clothes on."

"You'll wrinkle our suits," he smirks at the tremor in my voice, and it's enough to pull a sneer from me. (I never would have thought I'd miss this too? Sexual manipulation of the highest form and an adorable smugness shouldn't be allowed to coexist in someone that looks like him.)

He shrugs, biting down on his lip and arching an eyebrow. "Don't care."

"You should," I scold him lightly, "all our friends are waiting for us."

"And they can wait twenty minutes longer, don't you think?" He asks thoughtfully. "That'll leave us with five minutes for you to press your trousers."

"Or twenty for you to press your luck, Simon Snow." I push at his shoulders lightly, and he groans, rolling away from me and onto his stomach. "Come along, we've got to go thank all our friends for putting up with our nonsense over the past few months, and then tell them about that."

His eyes move down to the ring on his finger, and everything about him softens. "It's so sparkly," he whispers, marveling down at it. "Probably the prettiest thing I've ever owned."

"No," I disagree, caressing my lips against his cheek, "that would be your heart."

"And the award for unbelievable sap of the year goes to Basilton Pitch." He claps, hollering with a pump of his fist.

"It's your doing, I assure you. Now get up, we're already late."

It takes another ten minutes for me to persuade Simon out of the door, and another five still of his complaining. He doesn't like the restaurant (he does, I've seen him eat a hundred dollars worth of steak in under an hour), it's too cold to leave the flat (I offer to warm him up, and that seems to appease him), he's not in the mood for a big party (he's Simon Snow. I can spot that lie from a mile away). It's not until we're in front of the restaurant that I get a moment of peace.

And then I wish he would moan some more, because it feels wrong to have silence when I could be listening to him chatter away.

"Ready?" He asks. "We can wait if you're not."

"How magnanimous of you," I say drily. "But I'd very much like it if you'd quit stalling. Besides, the sooner we're in there, the sooner we can leave."

"Then come on slow poke, can't keep our fans waiting."

 _ **...**_

 ** _SIMON_**

Penny notices it first, and her shriek is enough to get Baz running across the room over to where we are.

"Christ, Bunce. I'd rather he not be deaf before we get married. Maybe after, but unquestionably not before."

She wags an accusatory finger at him. "Don't you _dare_ sass me, Basilton. You two have been together for three weeks now and this is the first I'm hearing of it." He backs away from her slowly, and she follows, her eyes narrowing. "To think, I was ready to battle an army of goblins to save you two. Well, now they can have you! I no longer care."

"It wasn't Baz's idea," I say quickly, jumping between them before she overreacts and hits him with, like, **_Crack Me Up!_** or some other ridiculous spell. Doesn't matter how happy a person is, being forced to laugh twenty four/seven sounds _terrible_. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

Her eyes flash, and for a second I consider ducking, Baz could do with a good laugh, but then she's squeezing my arms and bouncing. "Do you want my binder?" She asks excitedly. "Of course I'll have to change it to match your preferences, but that shouldn't be too difficult. When were you thinking, summer? Winter? No, can't be winter, Baz'll be much too pale." I let her pull me away, glancing back at Baz and scowling as he tries to hide his chuckles.

Leave it to me love a bastard. A _cute_ bastard, but a bastard nonetheless.

 _ **...**_

 ** _BAZ_**

Steph comes and find me when she and Stacy finally arrive and I'm surprised by how happy I am to see her. I haven't made much time for her since the wedding, what with the Simon of it all and the holiday from uni, and it isn't until I'm hit with her bright smile that I regret it.

If last year someone had told me some perpetually cheerful blonde would become one of my best friends, I would have laughed in their face. (Or scoffed. Sneered maybe.)

"Congrats," she says once she's planted herself in front of me, winding her arms around my waist and grasping tight. "Penny texted us about the future Mr. Pitches." She pulls back, tapping at her chin. "Mr. Snows?"

"We haven't had that conversation yet," I smile. (There is no dimension in which I'll be Tyrannus Basilton _Snow_. My name is ludicrous enough as it is.) "How have you been?"

"Good," she answers quickly, and if she thinks I've missed the way her eyes dart to Stacy, laughing at something Micah's said, she sorely mistaken. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I'm sure you'll do it anyway."

She fiddles with the hem of her shirt. "Well, um, I was just wondering if you would mind if – uh – if I asked Stacy out on a date?"

I keep my face as impassive as I can muster. Still, one of my eyebrows goes up, and she flinches. "A date?" She nods slowly. "I hadn't realized you were – "

"I'm not," she interrupts me in a burst of manic energy and anxiety, "I mean, I am, I just don't talk about it unless it comes up, you know? And then you and Stacy hated one another, so I thought, since I'm your friend, that I couldn't tell you about how I was feeling. And then I wasn't sure if she felt the same way, but we've been spending all this time together and I figured I might as well go for it." She stops, sucking in a ragged breath. "But she's your cousin, so if that makes you uncomfortable or anything, then of course I won't."

I'm afraid she might burst if I don't put her out of her misery soon. "Relax, Steph," I instruct her. She immediately sags, winded by her monologue and slightly dejected. "You can do whatever you want, with whoever you please, even my nightmare of a cousin."

"Really?" She asks, still skeptical. "You wouldn't be mad?"

"Why would I be? If anything, I'm surprised you were able to wait this long."

Stacy chooses this moment to waltz up to us, fluttering her eyelashes up at me. "Stephie," she coos sweetly, "do you mind if I steal Bazzie for a moment?"

Steph gulps, going to play with her hair before remembering it's all back in her bun. "Sure," she stammers. How either of them has managed to hold out this long is beyond me. (Then again, I waited eight years to be with Simon, so I'm not one to talk.)

Stacy pulls me to the side, her talons (excuse me, nails) digging into my arm, before she whips around and gives me a lacquered smile. "We're good now, right?"

Where Steph piqued my interest, Stacy's got me suspicious. "As good as two people can be after one of them has been evicted."

"Oh, that reminds me, I'll be by to get the rest of my stuff later. You think you can be fully clothed this time?"

Leaning back against the wall, I regard her curiously. "Possibly, but I make no promises. What is this about?"

"Since we're all family, hunky-dory now, how opposed would you be to me asking Steph out?"

I can't help but roll my eyes. "You're romantic predilections are of no concern to me. As long as you both remain in one piece, you have my blessings."

"Excellent," she simpers. I'm not entirely positive Steph has any idea what she's getting herself into. "Now if you'll excuse me," she says with a wink, "I've got a date to go and…" Her voice trails off as something behind me catches her eye. "You idiot." She spits, the smirk on her face disappearing as something more murderous takes its place.

I turn, watching as Taylor strides across the room over to Simon. "You have got to be kidding me."

 _ **...**_

 ** _SIMON_**

Penny's got half the wedding planned by the time I've finished my second drink. I don't know why this surprises me, maybe because I'm a little tipsy. But then again, so is she.

"No, hear me out," she cries earnestly, "if you do, we could all go back to England. And it'll be warm. You could do the beach!" She claps, and I want to hug her. But I can't imagine Baz at the beach, or I can, but not without lots of sneering.

And he can't sneer on our wedding day. It'll ruin all the pictures.

"But if we do spring, we can wear flowers." Now that I like imagining. Baz, all longhaired and tan with a bunch of lilacs slipping onto his forehead and tucked behind his ears. He would look great with purple; the _entire_ wedding should be purple.

I'm about to tell her that, when I feel someone's eyes on me. Frowning, I twist just in time to catch Taylor before he walks into me.

"Simon," he grins, easy like the last time we'd seen each other hadn't ended in disaster. "Can we talk?" His hand slips along the table until our fingers brush, and it's all I can do to hide my disgust.

"There's nothing to talk about," my hands drop away from him like he's coated in worseger venom. "You shouldn't be here."

"Look, I know I freaked you out, and I get it. You're still not over Brad – "

"Baz," I growl, "you know his name."

"Whatever," he shrugs, "I just want you to know that once you're over him, I'll be here."

Penny lets out disbelieving laugh, twirling her ring between her fingers. "Where do you think we are?"

Taylor blinks, noticing her for the first time. "I don't know. Stacy just said she was going to a party. I figured Simon would be here."

"Yeah well, this is my _engagement_ party," I growl again. I can't help it, between him and the alcohol I'm just so _angry_. " _Brad_ and I are getting married, so I'm gonna have to decline your offer."

Taylor's eyebrows furrow together. "You're lying," he finally says, although his voice has lost some of its confidence. "I saw you a couple weeks ago, you couldn't have gotten engaged since then."

Something hits him hard from behind us, and he stumbles forward, barely managing to stay up right. "Think again," Baz snarls.

 _ **...**_

 ** _BAZ_**

I wait for Simon's reluctant nod before taking Taylor by the scruff of his neck and slamming him back against the closest wall.

"Now," I sneer, reveling in the way he trembles, "I'm not going to kill you. It would ruin the party, and quite frankly, upset my fiancée. Besides, I do owe you one. You see, if you hadn't been such an unbelievable twat, Simon and I wouldn't have gotten back together. So, as a thank you, you're allowed to leave this party breathing. But if you ever talk to Simon, or even look at Simon again, I will tear your bloody throat out with my teeth, understand?"

"Baz," Simon warns me, and if I'm not careful, Taylor will follow Simon's gaze down to my fangs.

Still, I give him a hard shake. "Do. You. Understand?"

He nods, cowering slightly as my grip on him loosens. "Outstanding." I smile, close-lipped so he won't see how close I am to making my threat a reality. "Oh, and one more thing," either he doesn't anticipate my next move, or he's too slow to do anything about it, but my fist connects solidly with his jaw. He sprawls to the floor, his face pinched with agony. "That's for hitting on my boyfriend, more than once I might add, even though you knew about me. Fucking asshole."

Simon grabs on to my arm and yanks me away. When his arm snakes around my waist, I'm sure it's more to make sure I don't go and finish the job. "I'm going to be in trouble when we get home, then?"

"Absolutely," he huffs, "but that was also wicked. So not that much trouble."

The party doesn't last much longer after Taylor walks out with a bag of ice pressed to his chin (I have no idea why, but it puts me in a particularly good mood), so Simon and I say our goodbyes and then head home.

"I was thinking," Simon yawns, letting me pull his tie from his neck, "that we should have three kids."

"You've jumped the gun a bit, haven't you?"

"This is important stuff," he points out. "Right up there with scones and your butt."

"You have some interesting priorities, Snow."

"And no more of that, ever," he bounds up onto the bed so that he towers over me. "It's Simon or nothing."

"What about my love?"

His nose crinkles as he considers it. "I guess that's all right."

"Sweetheart?"

"Not my favorite, but it'll due."

I hop onto the bed in one quick motion and his lips pucker into a pout when he looks up at me. "Love monkey?"

"No way, you twit."

"Sour cherry scone with a side of butter?"

"And we've got a winner," he laughs; tackling me so we end in a tangle of limbs and his tail and my grunts. "That would be a good name, wouldn't it?"

"Winner?"

"No," he tweaks my nose, "Cherry. Butter if it's a boy."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not, and that terrifies me."

He ignores me, rolling onto his side so he can kick off his shoes. "Cherry Snow. I'd want to be friends with a Cherry Snow."

"No way will any child of mine be named after a food or precipitation." He glances up at me from his perch by my feet, untying my laces. (No, he's tying them together. I would be exasperated if he wasn't so painfully good looking.) "Emaline's a good name, pretty. Emaline Pitch."

"Emaline Snow sounds better," he argues, just for arguments sake, I suppose. We both know he'll get final say; I'm a sucker for that excited glimmer in his eyes. "Emaline Snitch?" He offers. "Emaline Plow?"

"Merlin," I kick at him and he falls back onto his arse, "are you having a stroke?"

He swats at my ankle. "It's our last names mashed together. I don't think they're that bad."

"They're terrible, Simon. Even for you."

"Dick," he mutters petulantly. I recline against the headboard, watching him as he wriggles out of pants.

"Funny," I muse, "I was just thinking the same thing."

"How can you turn kids names into something dirty?" He wonders, plodding out of the room and into the kitchen. "Also, I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," I call.

"Come help me, Baz," he whines, and it propels me out of the bed. He's on the floor, rummaging through the cabinets. When he hears me coming, he looks over his shoulder, all half-naked and tawny curls and mischievous smiles. "I was thinking cupcakes."

"We don't have any of the ingredients."

He pops up, red velvet mix in one hand and a tub of frosting in the other. "Apron's in the corner."

 _ **...**_

 ** _SIMON_**

"Pitch-Snow," he says. My legs swing as Baz moves around the kitchen, reaching for the frosting. He sets a hot tray down with a jerk of his arm, flicking off his oven mitts and coming over to me. "Emaline and Brinley Pitch-Snow."

"No amount of frosting would ever make those names okay," he wedges himself between my legs, patting a spoon coated in icing against my lips until I open my mouth. "Not even buttercream."

"Those are perfectly good names," he protests. "My name would have been Emaline if I'd been a girl."

"Fine, we could call her Emma," I concede, "but Brinley?"

"No Brinley then," he hums, his hands falling to my legs, tracing out a pattern. I think it's my name, but I'm not sure. "But I don't see you offering up any suggestions."

"You know what I want," I reach for a cupcake, letting out a low hiss when I burn my finger. "Cherry _Snow-Pitch_." Lifting my hand, he examines the raised, red patch of skin, pressing a slow kiss there. And I don't know how to focus on the pain and the surge of pleasure it sends through me.

"Snow-Pitch," he murmurs contemplatively, blowing cool air over the burn, "now that I can get behind." I shiver, my stomach making a ten-foot drop as he peeks up at me, stroking along the blister before placing another gentle kiss there. "With a little convincing, I'm sure I could even see the beauty in Cherry."

"But the cupcakes."

"They'll be there in a few minutes, won't they?" He sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers. "Fancy a dance?"

"It's late."

"I realize that."

"And I don't have any pants."

"Also something I'm aware of, thank you Simon."

"And –"

"And it's well gay to dance with another man, even your fiancée," he finishes for me, quirking up an eyebrow.

"No," I puff, "I was going to say that we haven't got any music."

"Never stopped us before," he steps back, throwing his arms out and smiling, "hop off and come here."

I try to hold out, folding my arms over my chest and looking sullen. And when it gets too hard, I launch myself at him, giggling when his hands land on my waist, steadying me. "I could sing," I propose, my arms slipping over his shoulders. He's got the nicest shoulders, sort of pointy and strong and soft against my lips. "Any suggestions?"

He presses his chin to my forehead, hiding a silent laugh. "Anything is fine with me."

We start to move, settling into an easy sway as words form in my head. " _What if, what if we run away? What if, what if we left today? What is we said goodbye to safe and sound? And what if, what if we're hard to find? What if, what if we lost our minds? What if we let them fall behind and they're never found?_

I can feel his smile. "You're so predictable." Pinching his side, I keep singing, grinning hard into the crock of his neck.

" _And when the lights start flashing like a photo booth, and the stares exploding, we'll be fireproof. My youth -"_

 _"_ _My youth is yours,"_ he purrs back, and he's laughably bad and of course musical genius Baz can't hold a note.

" _Trippen' on skies, sippin' waterfalls. My youth, my youth is yours, a truth so loud, you can't ignore._ "

"Who would have thought Troye Sivan would have the words I've always wanted to say to you?"

I don't know when we stopped dancing, when his eyes caught mine, when my heart stopped beating, when my world shifted so that it began and ended with his arms around mine and my name on his lips. "It's a good song," I reply, my mouth dry. "He's a good writer."

"That he is." He arches an eyebrow. "Well, no one told you to stop."

"How about you just grab your phone and we can do that instead?"

He nestles his chin into my hair, blowing at a curl. "But I love your voice."

"The rest of the chorus, and then cupcakes. Extra frosting."

"Deal."

.

..

...

A/N: Ugh, I'm vomitting at how sappy I am, but also, ugh, I couldn't help it? And ahhhh, we're almost done!


	24. Chapter 24

_**BAZ**_

The wedding comes faster than humanly possible.

It's the curse of eternity, I suppose. Time operates on another plane, a tauntingly slow march when all you want is to be done, a sweeping crescendo when you need silence, a race when you want to stroll. I ached to hold onto every moment before that day with Simon, so naturally I blinked and it's suddenly two days before.

 ** _…_**

It wasn't a quick engagement, I made sure of that. Simon was ready to go the second he finished inhaling those cupcakes, but no matter how much I loved him, I would in no way be marrying him in city hall on a Tuesday.

"What about a Wednesday?" He suggested, in that helpful way of his when he's not being helpful at all. "I only have, like, two classes."

"Shut up, Simon."

First on my to-do list was to call my parents.

Daphne cried. I sat there for fifteen minutes trying to calm her before she finally gave the phone to Father.

"Basilton, what is it?" He asked, his suspicion outweighing his concern. "Daphne's weeping?"

"I'm getting married." I skipped pleasantries. I didn't think he would have appreciated the waste of time, and honestly the quicker the conversation went, the better. I knew how he would react from the moment I put that ring on Simon's finger. He would be happy, cautiously so, but removed. "I thought you and Daphne would want to know."

He was so quiet for so long, I thought he might have hung up. And that I'd been foolishly optimistic in what I'd hoped his reaction would be. It was one thing to have a gay son; it was another to have a gay son with a gay husband starting a gay family.

"Basilton," he gasped, just as I was about to drop the call, "oh, Baz." I could count on one hand all the times he's called me Baz.

"I thought you and Fiona talked about it before you gave me the ring," I hated how I felt the need to justify marrying the person I was always meant to be with. "I just assumed you knew the inevitability of it all."

"Son," his voice broke, and his cry was different from Daphne's. Softer, more ragged. It formed a knot in the center of my stomach and I clenched at the phone tighter, willing all words down my throat. "What can I do?"

"Do? What do you mean?"

"For the wedding," he answered quickly, and there was a glimmer of impatience in his voice (how fucked up was it that it made me more comfortable?) "Anything you or Simon want, spare no expense, please."

I frowned, rubbing at my temples. "You've been telling me to get a job for months."

"Well, this isn't about spending money or rent, is it?" I didn't mention the condo; it didn't seem all that necessary. "All I've ever wanted, Basilton, is for you to be healthy and happy. From what I see, Simon does both of things for you and more."

I didn't know what to say, so all I managed was a flustered, "thank you, Father."

"Of course," he replied, just as professional and clipped as always. (If I blinked, I could almost delude myself into believing that the nice moment had never happened.) "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to attend to your stepmother."

Fiona was a lot less emotional, thankfully so. I don't think I would have been able to handle it if she fell apart.

"You made the offer?" She asked before I had a chance to get a word out. "And I'm assuming it was a good answer, or you wouldn't be wasting my minutes."

"You have an unlimited plan," I reminded her, easing back onto the bed. "And yes, I made the offer."

"Tell my future nephew-in-law to be expecting a visit soon."

I gaped at the phone, frowning. "Fiona, you don't have to- "

"Be seeing you soon, Baz. Try not to get kidnapped before then, yeah?"

The list of people Simon needed to tell turned out to be just as long. The Wellbelove's, the Bunce's, Micah's family who took to him like most people did, they were all so invested in Simon that I wouldn't be marrying into one family, but three.

And it only made sense, since this wedding was only one part mine, one part Simon's, and several parts Penelope.

In the year and half we spent planning, Penelope made sure that every detail was to her approval. The flowers had to be perfect (lavender lilacs and a flower crown I would in no way be placing on my head), the suits specially tailored (Micah's uncle did them. They're immaculate and worth more than we paid, though I'll never tell Bunce that) and the venue just right. We spent hours arguing over the perfect time of the year to actually get married (Spring for Simon, Summer for Penelope and a rousing _who cares_ for me) before I snapped.

"Bunce," I snarled, "isn't there anything, _anything_ else for you to be doing?"

"I've finished all my homework, and Micah is busy with his graduate school research, so I thought I would offer up a helping hand."

"One that no one asked for, I believe."

"Don't be snippy, Basilton. You've been completely useless."

I hitched up an eyebrow, reaching over the coffee table (that was covered in watermarks despite my endless pleads for the use of coasters) and snatching the _new_ binder she's created just for us. "We'll do this in the spring, right before graduation. I was thinking May, warm but not too warm. And yes, we'll be going back to England, no whining, Simon. We can't expect everyone we know to fly out here, again."

"But Baz – "

"No more of this, at least not for tonight. I'm heading over to the football pitch with Stacy and Steph. If either of you would care to join, you may, as long as no one even breathes the word wedding."

Penelope scowl slowly dissipated, replaced by a smile. "We should be finished with classes by then. I think May should work nicely."

Simon shrugged, already hopping up and digging around for his trainers. "As long as I get my flowers, I don't care."

Still, for the next eighteen months, the wedding took over everything else. Between classes and dates and nights out, we were bent over the binder, scouring over every possible option and making calls. Soon, much sooner than it would have gone without Penelope (I admit with reluctance), everything began to fall into place.

We saved money on the wedding by using the gardens behind our summer home, with Father's blessing. Daphne knew a florist, and they were more than willing to supply as many lavender lilacs as would please Simon. The caterers were a friend of Fiona's (she'd solved a vampire problem they'd been having), and we'd finally agreed on a DJ, despite Steph's outrage.

The only variable left by the end of it all was who would be in attendance. We both wanted a small wedding; we'd known that from the start. And it definitely helped that neither of us were exactly drowning in friendships. But it was still larger than I'd expected, with our respective family members and the people willing to come all the way from New York.

It was…interesting divvying up our group of friends. Penelope was Simon's best girl; Steph was with me, Teddy firmly on Simon's side and Stacy mine to deal with. Micah had been adamant that he didn't want to be involved (incredibly smart man) so it was all even. There wouldn't have been a problem, if not for Simon and his inability to follow directions.

"Two each," I fume, "we said two each."

"But I couldn't not ask Agatha," he cries, staring me down with those fucking blue eyes that made it impossible to focus. "And me and Brian have become great mates since we got here."

"What's Brian's last name?" His lips clamp together, and he jerks his chin up. "Cat got your tongue?"

His eyes widen and he pounces forward with a growl. "Don't joke about that! Between you and Fiona, I still get nightmares from that spell."

"Your current relationship with my aunt is all of your own doing." (A disposable income coupled with free time meant she was making a nuisance of herself every few weeks. She'd been to see us enough that the constant quarreling between her and Simon was common enough that I could tune it out.)

So, in a moment of incredible stupidity (maybe with the intent to punish), I invited Dev and Niall to be groomsmen. We'd kept in touch over the years, once they finally forgave me for all the years of they'd spent hating Simon just for me to turn around and fall for him. And they used to be my best mates, that didn't just go away because of who I was dating.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, I realized that the only person I wanted standing beside me on the actual day was a best girl of my own.

"What do you mean you won't be my best girl?" I asked, scowling at my laptop screen which currently broadcasted Mordelia's blank expression.

"It sounds like a lot of work," she shrugged, twirling around in her seat. "I think I'd much rather be the flower girl."

"I've already decided that Bella and Mori will be the flower girls," I seethed, trying and failing to hide my frustration. "Best girl is better anyway."

"Why?" She asked. "From what cousin Stacy said, I'll have to do a bunch of annoying things, and I won't even get anything from it at all."

"What have I told you about talking to cousin Stacy?" I asked reproachfully.

"That she's crazy and I can only believe half of what she says," she recited, "but that sounded pretty believable."

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I decided it was time to pull out my last remaining playing card. "If you do this, Father Christmas will get you extra presents this year."

"Baz," she chided, "I'm ten, almost eleven. You can't use that on me anymore." I waited, biting back a grin as she chewed on her bottom lip. "Of course, if Father Christmas were to get me everything on my list this year, then I could be your best girl."

"I'll write to him personally." I swore, holding a hand to my chest so she would know I was serious.

She paused, her mouth screwing into a pensive frown, before she finally nodded. "All right, I'll do it. But I have a question."

"Shoot."

"What exactly is a best girl?"

 ** _…_**

That's how I find myself a mere forty-eight hours before the wedding, clinging to Simon's hand as Dev and Niall roll up onto the driveway in a limo, each holding a bottle of champagne and promising more debauchery than should be allowed.

"This is your fault," he murmurs, blinking as Fiona thrusts the door open. "Get in wankers," she calls, "it's time to go."

"I thought Penny was in charge of the bachelor party," he cries, and now his hold on my hand is almost as tight as mine on his.

Penelope comes up behind us, patting Simon on the shoulder. "I did." She grins. "Everyone is already inside, and I thought it would be a laugh for us to go to a strip club."

"She can't be serious," Micah takes me by the elbow, and Penelope gets a firm grip on Simon's arm. "She's your friend, please tell me she isn't serious!"

" ** _No New Friends_** ," he mutters, his wand just poking out his pocket, and there's a sweet moment of agonizing relief where I think we might actually get out of this. But it doesn't work (we've claimed this merry band of idiots for too long, rendering the spell ineffective. Besides, Drake's newer songs are better for spells anyway. Who knew **_Hotline Bling_** would be so great for booty calls?)

"Stop wasting my buzz and let's go," Fiona crows, and you would think she wasn't a woman in her late thirties (cough, early forties) but one of the very idiots with which I acquaint myself.

"If this ends terribly, I'm blaming you," I mutter through bared teeth.

He shrugs, releasing my hand long enough to slide into the limo. "You've already put a ring on it, there's not much you can do to get rid of me now."

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

They were lying, or at least I think they were. It's only nine o'clock and I doubt Dev and Niall will be turning in early.

But, for our first stop, everyone is still dressed and there's a karaoke machine in the front of the bar, so we're safe for now.

Agatha and Luke are up on the microphone, although you couldn't call what they're doing singing. Agatha holds the microphone gingerly, rolling her eyes every time Luke tries to pull her into the song. Something by Arethra Franklin.

I'm glad I told her to bring him, that I get to see them together. Ever since our talk at the wedding, I've just wanted her to be _happy_. And she might be. She probably is, but I just want to make sure of it.

And even if nothing happens between them, Agatha needs Luke. In the week since we've met, I see how much good their friendship does her. He pulls her out, never lets her get too serious, or too _Agatha_.

And he's not terrible looking, so I can't help but root for them.

"Fun, right?" Penny plops down beside me, two margaritas in hand. "It was Teddy's idea," we both glance over to our flame-headed friend, and I laugh as he and Brian try to chat up a pair of girls over by the bar. "I think he did it more so that he could do his Beyoncé."

"I don't think I'm surprised," I bump my shoulder against hers. "Hopefully Stacy doesn't beat him too it."

"We could get a competition going," she chuckles, pulling at the bottom of her skirt. "Steph's got a voice like an angel and Stacy's got a huge personality, but Brian and Teddy plan on flashing the crowd. So it's a toss-up."

"We've got good friends," I grin, the warm feeling in the center of my stomach spreading along my arms, tingling in my fingertips. " _Great_ ones, even."

Someone knocks over a tray of biscuits, and Fiona tosses an arm over Baz's shoulder. He keeps her from falling, managing a halfhearted sneer before a smirk worms its way across his lips. Stacy and Steph read through the songs, shooting the occasional good-natured glare over at Teddy and Brian, and Micah's trying to keep Agatha from leaving Luke all alone on stage. Even Dev and Niall, hooting loudly from their chairs between swigs of beer, widen my grin.

"I don't know," Penny muses, "it was quieter back in the day."

"We were fighting evil. That's hardly _quiet_."

"Yeah, but I didn't have to make nearly as much small talk."

"Truer words have never been spoken."

She takes my hand, examining the ring before she meets my eyes again. "Can I tell you a secret?" I nod, and her smile softens. "Once I graduate, me and Micah are going to try for a baby." I nearly leap out of my skin turning towards her, thoughts of my wedding fleeing to the back of my mind.

"Really?"

She darts up, clapping a hand over my mouth and shushing me quickly. With a quick glance around, she falls back onto the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Geez, Simon. Relax, all right? Micah and I aren't really telling anyone yet. And I definitely don't want to take any attention away from your day."

"Fuck the wedding," I exclaim, springing up in the chair, "this is a baby. _Your_ baby. Can I be the godfather? Or just Uncle Simon would be nice, but I definitely want to be the godfather too, if that's all right?"

"Yes," she laughs, "to all of it. But this is your night, and I won't hear another word about it. Understood?"

"Perfectly," I don't think I can handle anymore. I'm buzzing with contentment, and I can't help but wonder if maybe this will be the first time in ages that I'll go off from being _too_ happy.

* * *

 ** _PENNY_**

Karaoke's a bigger hit than I thought it would be, so everyone's having too much fun to notice when Baz and I slip away.

Baz dangles a cigarette between his lips, flicking a fireball over his palm and lighting it carefully. "You promised Simon you would quit." I scold, jerking my elbow into his side.

"Please don't startle a vampire when he's next to an open flame, Bunce. Would really appreciate not dying anytime soon." He sneers, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Anyway, I promised I'd quit after the wedding. The way I see it, this may be my last one. And I'd like to enjoy it, if you don't mind."

"You needed a favor," I pluck the cigarette from his mouth and toss it to the ground. "And after many exhaustive hours of research, and many a late night, I've come through with an answer for you. So don't," I take his chin, "give me a hard time."

"Fine," he yanks his chin free, "apologies. You have something for me?"

I go into my pocket, pulling out Simon's ring and setting it down in the center of his palm. "I nicked him with one of the umbrellas and got some of his blood, so he's bound to it. All I need now is a bit of your blood and then you can propose all over again."

"I know I don't say this much…or ever," he amends, "but you've got one beautiful mind."

"I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," I coo, patting his cheek quickly before raking a nail along his neck. He bites back a hiss, flicking an incensed glower over at me.

"What the fuck?"

"Your blood, Basilton, we've already been over this." He presses his hand to the scratch, brimming with irritation. It's easy enough to ignore him though; Baz is always teetering on the edge of exasperated. Instead, I rub the smudge of blood onto the ring and close my eyes. " ** _The Blood That Binds Us!"_** I murmur, pushing as much magic as I can into the ring. It glows hot and I'm _almost_ there, I can feel it. " ** _The Blood That Binds Us!"_**

"Aleister, Bunce," Baz smacks his lips, rubbing his thumb along his jaw, "strong stuff."

"Please keep the commentary to a minimum, I'm actually being useful, unlike _some_ people."

"I could do the spell," he grumbles petulantly, "if you'd let me help."

"If you could have done the spell by yourself, you wouldn't have come to me in the first place."

"Smug is not your best look."

"Well, sulky isn't yours."

"Is the ring done or not?

I shove it into his chest. "You owe me one, or many."

"Sure, sure," he says distractedly, swiping at the dried blood, "you know where I live when it comes time to collect."

I hum. "Meet us over by the limo when you finally buck up the courage to ask him again. We leave in fifteen. Enough time for you?"

He bares his teeth, fangs and all. "I'll have it done in ten." I nod, going to walk away, when his hand lands on my shoulder. "No, wait. I'll need all fifteen."

"I thought you might," I smirk, whirling around and heading back inside. He doesn't need me around to brood, not when he does it so well naturally. Besides, I promised Micah a duet, and knowing him, he'll pick the Big Bang Theory theme song.

And that, I _cannot_ allow.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

"Where do you keep disappearing off to?" I ask, touching Baz's shoulder as he drops a cigarette to the ground. He tastes smoky when I kiss him, and judging from his guilty expression, I don't think it's the first of the night. "You nervous?"

He tosses his empty pack into the closest garbage. "Why would I be?"

"Naked men?" I guess, gesturing up to the neon sign above us.

We hadn't stayed at the karaoke place much longer, and when Fiona slapped a pile of ones into Baz's hand and bid us goodnight, we should have known the night was taking a turn.

Dev and Niall blindfolded us in the limo, cackling like they used to at Watford when Baz was being particularly dreadful. When we finally got to a stop, they pulled us out and lead us inside someplace humid and loud. Baz groaned, his hand groping around until it found mine.

When they finally tore of the blindfolds, we got a face full of oiled up chests and greasy smiles.

"Lovely," Baz muttered, glaring back at _his_ friends, who were nearly catatonic with glee. "I'm not sure whom to kill first, my aunt or you pair of wankers."

Penny thrust me back into a chair, staring balefully at Baz. "Lap dance and then murder."

By the time I looked up from Dirty Dan, who was very nice other than the slick abs, the _very_ slick abs, Baz was gone.

"I couldn't breathe around all the testosterone," Baz smiles, and some of the weight on my chest lightens when it reaches his eyes. "Besides I didn't want to spend all of Fiona's money in one place."

"Really? Because Dirty Dan said he has a friend waiting for you."

"As appealing as that sounds, I have other plans for tonight that don't involve G-strings and glitter." He offers me a hand, and I don't think twice before taking it.

We walk in silence, the heavy beat of the music carrying on the wind and dancing between us. "Where are we going?" I finally ask, tangling our fingers together once we reach the road. The strip club must not be in the city, there're too many trees around us, the air's too clean.

He glances back at me but doesn't stop, tugging me over to the line of trees beside the road. "You trust me?"

" _You_ trust _me_?" I shoot back automatically, and his answer from that night eons ago echoes through my head, taunting me. I brace myself, and he must feel it, because his grasp on my hand tightens.

"With all my heart," blushing, he ducks his head, hair darker than the night sloping over his cheeks. "Now, you coming or should we head back to Dirty Dan and co?"

"Even if you weren't pulling me in for a snog in the forest, I still wouldn't want to go back to Dirty Dan." He breathes out a chuckle, taking me deeper and deeper in until all I can see if him and the moonlight and the trees around us. I think they're pine. They smell good, or at least I assume they smell good. His scent is thick around me, sweaty and a little sharp from the alcohol and woodsy from his cologne. And I don't think it's the margaritas that make me want to lick him from head to toe or to burrow into the dirt with him or crush him to the trees and stare at him with nothing but the smirk on his face.

"You're staring," he stops, turning and walking back until he hits a tree. _Crowley_ , he's not helping me. Not one bit. I shuffle forward until my toes meet his, ghosting a quick kiss to his lips. And then I stay there, my mouth barely against his, watching him through narrowed eyes and wishing someone would paint him just like this. With hooded eyes and his hands on my waist and all the love in the world written in cursive on his forehead.

"I like your face," I shrug, "and in two days, I'll get to stare all I want. Forever."

"About that," he says, "I can't very well expect you to hold on to forever when you can't hold on to your ring." I jolt back, yanking my hand away and searching frantically for it.

"No," I shake my head, collapsing to my knees and clawing at the ground, " _no_. I never take it off. Not ever. It must be around here somewhere."

He dives down beside me, grabbing for my wrist and giving me a soft smile, my ring caught between his fingers.. "Sorry, love, but I didn't know how else to get you on your knees." My mouth falls open, and he giggles. "Any other way than _that_." He falls back onto his butt, taking me with him. "It's just, this is where we all started. I was feeling nostalgic."

"We've never been here before."

He rolls his eyes, cupping the back of my neck and pulling until I'm lying on top of him, burying my giggles into his button down. It's a nice one too, sort of red but a little too rich. "Of course we haven't, you idiot," he says fondly. "But, other than the lack of flames, you kissed me for the first time in a forest just like this one."

"I think there were more cicadas."

"Can you please stop being so difficult? I'm trying to be romantic."

"We're getting all dirty."

"Would you rather I stopped?"

"Absolutely not."

He shimmies around until we're shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the stars. "I don't think I thank you enough for that day."

"You've saved my life plenty of times," I turn, draping a hand over his chest so I can feel his heart beat, as slow and even as always. "I think we've even."

"Not about the saving me," he says, "you could do that in your sleep, Chosen One. About everything else. Coming with me to see Nicodemus, kissing me, making me feel almost normal and alive and good for the first time in my life. I guess it's just because you've done it ever day since, but still. I owe you so much more than some ring, more than some wedding. More than an eternity."

"You could start with a kiss?" I offer. "And then maybe go from there."

He does as he's told, and we kiss and kiss and kiss, until I can't hear the owls and the crickets anymore, until he's all around me, in my eyes and my mouth and my nose. "I love you Simon Snow, always have, always will. And this is my official proposal, all right. Marry me?"

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?"

"For the love of Morgana, can you please just answer me?"

I laugh. "Of course, you git. I just don't get how lying in dirt is much better than lying in bed."

"Well of course you'll phrase it better," he sneers, sitting up and brushing at the dirt on his sleeve. I don't have the heart to tell him about the leaf stuck in his hair. And it's pretty cute anyway. "About how I swept you away underneath the starry sky and told you I couldn't live without you and gave you your ring all over again. Oh, and that it was _perfect_ ," he adds.

"That's a lot to remember," I sigh, letting him slip the ring back onto its rightful place. "But I'm sure I can do it."

"Glad to hear it, Snow," he mutters, sliding a hand around my waist and jumping up. "Or the soon-to-be Mr. Snow-Pitch."

I hum, not for the first time wishing that I could marry him here, just the two of us. "They're probably missing us at the party."

"They've got Dirty Dan to keep them preoccupied," he says drily. "But we should still head back."

I hook my arms around his shoulders, leaning up onto the tip of my toes so we're almost the same height. "On that list of things that you owe me," I start, enjoying the way his forehead crinkles with confusion, "would one of them be a lap dance? The first one was kind of fun."

Baz shoves me away, sucking on his fangs to hold back a grin. "Just when I think we've had a nice moment, you go and ruin it."

"Better get used to it," I don't have to stop my grin, and I wouldn't even if I had to. "First one back buys the next round of drinks and gets the lap dance."

"Are those supposed to be incentives?"

I shrug, and by the time my shoulders have settled back into place, he's taken off, gliding through the trees like he was born to run through them. "Cheater!" I call, scrambling to catch up with him as a laugh bursts from my chest.

If I have to spend the rest of my life chasing after someone, I'm glad it's Baz.

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

They don't let me see him the day before the wedding, which makes sense (even though I very much want to kill Steph as she locks me inside my room). I have to keep myself busy, so I keep Mordelia from harassing the guests, and I make sure Mother's other ring is polished and gleaming. I check on the suits for the thirteenth time, and then check on them again.

I pace and I try to sleep, and when I can't do that, I play poker with Stacy. But she's the best liar I've ever seen and I'm too scattered to focus, so she beats me again and again until she gets bored.

"You're like an addict," she mutters irritably, throwing the cards down and pushing away from the table. The chair scrapes against the floor, but I'm so distracted that I don't even notice. "Don't worry, just another eighteen hours until your next fix."

I sneer at her while she walks away, but as soon as she's gone, I decide that eighteen hours is just out of my range of patience. So I pick up the phone I swore I didn't have, slip into the bathroom, and call him.

"Crowley, am I glad to hear your voice," he says in a rush before I can get a word in.

"I haven't even spoken yet," I point out, and when I close my eyes, I see him shrug, tugging on a curl as he dangles the phone between his ear and the tip of his shoulder.

"I knew it was coming though," his voice drops away as he snips at someone, "my hair is fine, Agatha, _I swear_." Agatha hisses something back at him, and I can make out the spray of an aerosol can. "Sorry, Baz. The girls won't leave me alone long enough to breathe."

I cast a glare over to where Stacy and Steph flip through take-away menus. "I know the feeling. We could steal away, find another forest."

"Penny would massacre us both," he says, and he's just serious enough to pull a reluctant smile to my lips.

"There isn't much we can do until tomorrow."

"Seventeen hours, forty-nine minutes," he growls. "It's too long."

"Let's just talk then." He sniffs, and I jerk forward, desperate to kiss away the tears I know must be trailing down his cheeks. "About anything."

"Like what?" He stumbles over his words, and my heart gives a painful lurch.

"I found a new scone recipe," I say, "chocolate with some sort of sugar glaze. It sounds terribly sweet, right up your ally."

He snorts, a pitiful mix between a snicker and a sob. "I've got one first love and it's sour cherry scones. I'm offended you'd even bring this up."

"It never hurt anyone to try new things," I argue, "I'll even throw in a pound of butter if you take the teensiest of bites."

"That would last me ages," he cries, "the things I could do."

"Simmer down, Snow."

He laughs, and it's a rumble befitting of surround sound audio, not my shitty cell phone speakers. "We can try the recipe during our honeymoon. I'm sure they've got stoves in…Spain?"

"Excellent guess, love. But sadly, you're mistaken."

It had been Penelope's idea, to keep our honeymoon destination a secret. It was the one secret that would actually do us some good, a nice change after everything that happened over the last few years. And it had the added benefit of driving Simon mad. We've been playing this guessing game for the last three months, and it was one of the last great thrills I had during the insanity-inducing weeks leading up to the wedding (I love Simon. I love marrying him. I'm not a huge fan of all the pandemonium.)

"Prague? Italy? The place next to Mexico?"

"It's just one more thing you'll have to wait for."

"I think I don't want to marry you anymore."

"Don't be dramatic."

He growls. "I hate you, Basilton Snow-Pitch."

"And I love you too, Simon Snow-Pitch."

He falls asleep on the phone and I just sit and listen to him breathe for a while. Just like I plan to do for the rest of eternity.


	25. Chapter 25

**_BAZ_**

Penelope walks down the aisle with Mordelia beside her, lilacs in her free hand and in her hair and tucked in the strap of her dress. It's even the color of her freshly dyed hair, lilacs blending into the wild curls cascading down her shoulder. And then Agatha and Teddy walk down, her arm tucked in the crock of her elbow, followed by Dev with Steph, Niall with Stacy, and Brian and Teddy bringing up the rear. It all feels very serious until the fools start chanting.

" _Snow-Pitch_ ," Teddy says lowly, throwing me a wicked smile before pumping his fist into the air, " _Snow-Pitch_!" Brian catches on quick, dancing down the aisle and plucking Mori and Bella from the ground. They shriek, just happy to be included in the fun. Mordy jumps away from beside me, tossing down her bouquet and skipping between them, cheering.

Soon, everyone under the age of thirty has joined in, standing and chanting and earning startled reactions from my many extended family members. Father scowls, and I think he'll put an end to this, but then Daphne claps her hands together and screams louder than anyone else.

And I wish Simon could see it, because he would love it. It's chaos, of the most joyful kind, and it's right in his wheelhouse. (And it's this reason alone that I won't murder Teddy.)

But then it all quiets down the second the quartet starts playing (a concession made early on. Simon gets a DJ at the reception, and I get two violins, a viola and a cello when he walks in.) And Mordy comes back to her rightful spot, breathing hard, shiny with sweat, and grinning.

She tugs on the sleeve of my suit jacket. "This is the best wedding ever," she whispers, nodding eagerly over to where Simon stands, wringing his hands. Dr. Wellbelove stands on one side of him and Penelope's Mum is on his other, holding onto his elbow and guiding him forward (he's made himself blind, whimpering and sniffling and crying too hard to see).

But he manages a wobbly smile and my heart hammers at my chest, trying to get to him. And as they walk, I think of time again. Because all I want is for him to finally be in front of me, holding my hand and vowing til' death do us part. And because time is a prickly bitch, everything is slow. Unrelentingly torturous, submerged in crystalline clear water. And I'm drowning in each of his tears; in the way he can't hold back a grin despite his sobs.

Dr. Wellbelove shakes both our hands. Penelope's mum kisses Simon's cheek and gives me what can only be considered a warning look tempered by affection.

"Be good to him," she murmurs, pushing a lilac behind my ear.

I catch her by the shoulder, and she glances back at me. "I will. I promise." And then there's no one but me and Simon (and a hundred of our closest friends and family). And as Fiona starts, he lets out a shuddery breath, taking my hands and drawing me in close.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

It's just like I thought it would be. I'm crying, from the minute we step out of the limo and onto the second great Grimm-Pitch Manor. And it only gets worse when I see him, decked out in a grey suit and trying to look annoyed with everyone screaming. But then Mordy springs between Brian and Teddy, and he's beaming. I don't even think he realizes it, he'd never let his fangs show like this, and it's everything I've wanted for _so_ long that I can hardly take it.

Family, magic, love, the promise of a future.

So, I cry and he whispers something that makes me laugh. "Why are you already weeping?" He smirks. "You're ruining my plans to push you to tears."

"You're a git," I chuckle, and Fiona pinches my side.

"You may be marrying my nephew, Snow. But if you interrupt me again, I will gut you." Everyone chuckles, and Fiona winks like she's at a comedy club. I guess we are a pair of jokes. _Good_ ones though, and that's all that matters.

We both turn to her, Baz groaning loudly enough for the both of us. "Get on with it then, Fi."

"Well now that I've lost my train of thought, I'll have to start again." Flicking her bangs away from her face, she huffs. "Dearly beloved," she says, "we've all been summoned here to celebrate the love between the Chosen One and his mortal enemy."

"Not what I meant by get on with it."

She ignores him, cocking her head to the side and considering the guests. "Ten years ago, if anyone would have told me that my nephew would fall in love with the great Simon Snow, I would have laughed. And then cried. And then found me some numpties to solve that little problem."

"Merlin, Fi!"

"Relax, Basilton. Please," she shushes him. "If you'd just let me finish, you'd see that I plan on being sweet soon." He harrumphs, but doesn't interrupt her again. "Anyway, I knew from the moment Baz was born that it would be hard to find someone who loves him the way he deserves. Because, a love so strong and so unwavering doesn't exist in this world. Or it didn't until the these two stopped fighting long enough to realize they were meant to be together."

I hiccup, and Baz crosses his eyes. His gaze darts to Fiona, making sure she isn't paying us too much attention, before he twitches his nose and winks. And it has the intended affect. I laugh, blinking away the last of my tears.

She goes on and on, sweet enough that I think Baz threatened her into behaving. But I don't hear any of it, not with Baz stroking his thumb over my knuckles and snorting at whatever he's finding so _funny_.

Soon, it's time for the vows and of course Baz's will be elegant and prettier than it should be and perfect, because it's him. And he's constantly trying to make me look bad.

"Simon," he starts, "I've spent the last six years searching through every metaphor and sonnet, nursery rhyme and song lyric, and yes, the occasional dirty limerick," someone gasps, and it only adds kindling to the laughter spilling through my friends, "to try and summarize the way that I love you. But Shakespeare hadn't found an adequate way of describing all those years at Watford, living with the ache that comes with knowing you've met the only one you'll ever want. And the Bronte sisters tried, but none of them quite managed to get the skip in my heart when you touch me, or the lurch in my stomach when you smile. And don't even get me started on that dolt Nicholas Sparks."

"I love Nicholas Sparks," I frown.

"I know you do, for some unimaginable reason." He smirks. "Whitney Houston and Stevie Wonder, they both came close, but I suppose finding the words will all fall on my shoulders. _Je préfère passer une vie avec toi, que face à tous ages de ce monde seul_."

"That's no fair," I take my hand back long enough to scrub at my eyes. "I don't understand Italian."

His shoulders quake, and now I know he's laughing at me. "It's French, actually. And it means I love you."

"Oh," I nod, my smile dimming as I realize that it's my turn. And there's _no_ way I can go up after that without looking like a ginormous arse.

But I practiced, in front of Penny and Micah and Agatha and basically anyone else who would listen. And I don't even need the paper anymore, not if I think of his face and nothing else.

"Okay," I clear my throat noisily, wincing slightly when Fiona rolls her eyes. "So, um, I sort of wish that on the first day we ever met, I would have tried harder to be your friend. And then maybe I wouldn't have spent so much time confusing my love for you with hate. But that would mean rewriting our history, all of it, and then who knows what would have happened."

I feel a hand rub along my shoulder, and I thank Merlin for Penny. Because I'm shaking like a leaf, and my stomach feels as if it's about to bowl over, and I just need to get through this.

"And I'm thankful for it all, for every fight and for every stupid sneer and every posh, mean thing you ever said. Because it meant that you were always with me. You were the first thing I'd think about in the morning, and the last thought I had before I fell asleep. And I know I can do this because of all, like, the practice. I loved you then, I love you now, and I'll love you through all the bad days and fights and make-ups and best days we have from now until forever. So, uh, yeah. That's it. I don't know any fancy languages, and I barely know English, so that's all I've got to say."

Shutting his eyes, he inhales deep and reaches forward, cupping my cheek. "It was perfect." He whispers. "You're perfect."

"All right," Fiona whistles, "enough of this. Lovely vows aside, I think we all want to get to what we really came for." She pauses, and I rip my eyes away from Baz long enough to stare expectantly at her. "The open bar?"

"Always a class act," Baz mutters, dropping my hand so he can spin his. "Fine, let's finish this."

"Excellent," she claps, drawing Mari and Bella forward. "Do you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, take Simon Snow for your lawful wedded husband? Will you love, honor, comfort, and cherish him from this day forward, forsaking all others- "

Baz cuts her off with a firm nod. "As long as we both shall live."

"And do you, Simon Snow, take Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be your lawful wedded husband? Will you love, honor, comfort and cherish him from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only onto him for as you both shall live?"

I shrug, and this time Penny isn't much of a comfort.

She slaps a hand along the back of my head. "You can't _shrug_ to that, Simon. Use your words," she hisses.

"Yes," I growl, shooting back a quick scowl, "yes, I do, forever."

"If you'd hurry it along with the rings," Mari hands me a golden band, and an identical one glints in the air as Bella passes it to Baz. I press his to my lips before slipping it onto his finger. Mine settles just above the engagement ring, and I think they'll be fast friends. "Outstanding. I now diagnosis you with a near fatal case of marriage. Please snog already so we can go."

"With pleasure," Baz says, nudging past her until we're inches apart and then closing the gap between us. And I've got to say, it feels _different_ kissing my husband. Right. Inevitable, even.

Once we've pulled back, his lips bright red like the lights on a Christmas tree, everyone claps.

"Baz?"

"Yes, love?"

"It's time for food now, yeah?"

He slings an arm around my waist, grinning into my hair. "That it is, love. That it is."

* * *

 ** _BAZ_**

Penelope is waiting for us as soon as Simon and I make our way inside after pictures and well wishes. He tries not to pout the entire time, but I can hear his stomach rumbling from where he stands, and his frown gets deeper and deeper each time. It'll be a riot looking at all the photos when they've developed.

"Simon," she kisses his cheek, "my mum wanted to talk to you. Can you spare a few moments? I'll keep this one out of trouble." She jerks her chin up at me, but I'm too ecstatic to feign incredulity, so I don't respond, just watch Simon.

He turns to me, puppy dog eyes out and fucking blazing. "You'll be all right with me gone?"

"Course I will, I'm not a child," I scoff. "Maybe on the way back, you can grab us some food as well."

His face lights up at the idea, and it doesn't take much more convincing before he's scampering away.

Once he's gone, Penelope wheels around on me, folding her arms across her chest and pursing her lips. "What's your problem?" I ask.

"'I would rather spend one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone'," she says, each word carefully formed on her tongue before she throws them at me. "Unlike your new husband, I happen to be fluent in French."

I bristle, balking underneath her stare before remembering that this is my fucking wedding day and I'm not to be intimidated (even by Bunce, who is regularly the most intimidating person I know). "Fine, not my words. But I'm sure J. R. R. Tolkien won't mind that I borrowed them."

She hums, some of her bravado leaking away. "Well, it was wonderful. And I can tell that he loved it, so no use spoiling his fun. Besides, I didn't come here to hassle you." She steps forward, sliding her arms around my waist. "I just wanted to say I'm happy for you, for the both of you."

"You've gotten sentimental on me, Bunce," I sneer, returning her hug, "what good will you be to me now?"

"Don't give me a hard time, Basilton," she says, pulling back and lifting her nose into the air. "For some odd reason, you've filled this room with candles, and you're extremely flammable."

"Threats won't do you any good. Not today at least." I laugh, dropping a kiss onto her forehead before walking out of reach. "You make a lovely best girl, Bunce. I look forward to your toast."

"And I've gone sentimental?" She calls after me.

"Oh, I must definitely have," I murmur, pulling a face, "obviously." (We're at my wedding, for fuck's sake. I'm absolutely sentimental.)

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

"I did something."

"You've done lots of things. I've got a list if you want."

He inhales, looking skyward before back at me. "Please don't be difficult for the next minute. After that, you can do whatever you please."

"Fine," I say gracefully. "What'd you do?"

He taps at my hand as we walk onto the dance floor, finding the rings as we wiggle through the crowd. "Those rings, they're a bit more than just sparkly."

"Yes," I nod sagely, "they're also very shimmery."

He hushes me with a look. "I thought, since you got your wand from the Mage, after everything that happened, it was time for the family we're going to make to have something magickal of our own."

"What do you mean?"

He brings his lips close to my ear. "They were my mother's. And you're my family, so the way I see it, they'll work better than any wand."

"Stop it."

He frowns, puzzled by my reaction. "Stop it?" He repeats, losing some of his shine.

"Stop doing things to make me love you," I can't hold back my grin, so I don't bother trying. "You've already got me." Someone pushes into my back and I stumble into him. "This is too much."

"There's no such thing as too much, not when it comes to you." He slides in close, one hand on my waist and one hovering in the air. When I stare back at him dumbly, he rolls his eyes. "You're a terrible dancer," he murmurs, tucking my arm neatly at his waist and the other on his shoulder. "How is that possible? I paid for lessons."

"I can stand and sway with the best of them. _You're_ the one who decided that we needed to foxtrap, or tangle or whatever."

"You're being purposefully obtuse." He takes a step back, and I follow. As long as I let him lead, I probably won't fall. _Probably_. "You know the names."

"I just don't care about the names," I agree.

Our first dance, to some Elvis song with a pretty melody, was easy enough. We kind of just stood in the middle of the dance floor, shuffling about until Daphne and Penelope broke in, Baz laughing as he twirled his stepmother and Penny bumping her hip against mine. But now Baz wants to show off, and he's stupidly light on his feet.

"I think I'm just tired," I admit, flinching as I step on his toe, again. "It's been a long day."

"Well, one more dance, and then we'll be off." He promises, giving up on the fancy footwork long enough for me to rest my chin on his shoulder. "No more toasts, no more food- " I scoff at the idea, and he pinches my side. "Just you, me and the airport."

"Come on, Baz. Just tell me where we're going. It's one place, not some big secret," I yawn, snuggling in closer to him.

"Not one place, Simon," he's smiling; it makes his voice brighter, his words smoother. "Everywhere, for as long as you'd like." He cranes his neck down until our eyes meet. "I've got a map and unlimited destinations. I thought we could visit the country with the most famous sour cherry scones, and then go from there."

"Really?" I ask, my excitement chasing away the drowsiness lingering inside of me. "But what about -?"

"No," he tucks his finger underneath my chin and lifts, "no questions, no worries, none of that. We've graduated and we can think of jobs and responsibilities once we land back in New York. For now, all I care for if your happiness and the amount of sunscreen Bunce packed for us."

"If you'd all head to the front of the house," the DJ calls, "it's time to bid the happy couple fare well."

And I wish I'd been paying more attention during that last dance. Because it's over, and I'd been too focused on him to soak it all in. But I'd rather remember the way his eyes crinkled during Penny's toast than what she actually said. Or the softness of his freezing hands when we swung around in circles, Mordy between us squealing with delight, to some song that didn't matter. Or the way he picked the rice from his hair with a scowl as we run to the town car waiting for us.

"Archaic, wasteful," he snarls, "Simon, would you _come_ on?" Someone pegs him in the face with a handful of rice and he sneers. I can just make out Stacy's giggle, and I grin as she leans into Steph to avoid Baz's glare.

Penny races after us, throwing her arms up and sinking into me. "Send me pictures from Ibiza?"

"Sure, as soon as you tell me where that is."

She snickers, loosening her hold on my hips. "He's going to pop a vessel if you don't go along." Baz bats at another stream of rice, gritting his teeth. "Fast."

I nod, taking her hand and dropping a kiss to the back of her palm before sliding into the car. He practically leaps in behind me, slamming the door shut with a hiss. "Fucking idiots." He shakes his head, sending rice raining down onto the dark leather seats.

"No frowns today," I lean into him, kicking off my loafers and bringing my knees to my chest. "Or any day after." He hums, shifting around long enough to shrug off his jacket and loosen his tie. "Baz?" He glances down at me, brushing his fingers through my hair. "What do we do now?"

The driver turns back to us, smiling faintly. "Where to then, boys?"

"To the airport." Stilling, he considers my question. "Anything we want."

"I like the sound of that."

"I do to," he decides. The car still lingers in front of the house, and he raises a hand, sending back a feeble wave to everyone we love. "Go on then, driver," he calls, "carry on."

.

..

...

 **A/N: Ahhh, I'm literally crying. This has been a yearlong journey of loving these characters and not hating my writing and loving everyone who's read, favorited, followed and reviewed. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have, and don't worry, I'll be back with an epilogue!**


	26. Epilogue

**_BAZ_**

"Aunt Stacy says that ice cream for breakfast is perfectly acceptable." I press my back to the wall, sucking a silent breath as I listen. "And Aunt Steph said that if you add fruit, it's practically healthy."

"Your aunts are terrible liars," Penelope says, "now hop up and I'll make up pancakes, sans ice cream."

"Mummy," another light voice complains, "we don't want pancakes. Fahfy made us pancakes the other day, and they were lumpy."

I finally round the corner, grinning as two pairs of twinkling eyes turn to watch me. "I'll have you know I make the best pancakes on the east coast."

"Fahfy!" Tasha squeals, slipping off her chair and racing to me. I bend, plucking her up from the ground and onto my hip.

I cringe at my nickname, the bane of my existence for as long the twins have been able to utter the word in my presence. I'd like to tell my adorable daughter what exactly I think of her little creation, but Natasha was only trying to be a good big sister when she came up with the ridiculous name.

 ** _…_**

"Meanwhile Bunce get's Mummy, you get Daddy, and I'm stuck with some pretend word. It isn't fair, Snow," I whined, slapping Simon's hand away as he yanked at my hair.

"We're married now, Baz. We have children, you sort of have to call me Simon."

"Ah, it's no fun when someone calls you something utterly ridiculous, is it?"

"…You're point's been made."

I even tried to change it, on numerous occasions.

"Natasha, Cody, thank you for joining us." My four-year olds blinked up at me. "I'd like to welcome you to the first official Snow-Pitch grand court."

"What's court, Daddy?" Cody asked.

"It's what we do when Fahfy's being silly, sweetheart."

"Simon, hush. We've convened today so that we can discuss some new names for me. As must as I love you two, Fahfy just isn't going to do."

"But I like Fahfy," Tasha said very matter-of-factly, "it sounds like fluffy. Like a doggy. And I like doggies."

"That's very clever, little puff, but also, not gonna happen."

"What about poopy?" Cody suggested. "I like poopy."

"And Fahfy it is." I grunted.

 ** _…_**

Tasha tugs on my hair, impatient for my attention. "We weren't saying your pancakes are bad. They just aren't very good."

"How diplomatic of you," I roll my eyes, going over to the fridge and letting her cling to my neck as I search through it. "If I apologize, will you leave me a good review?"

Cody plods up behind us, his blanket clenched in his hands and a fist sleepily rubbing at his eyes. "Good review with who, Fahfy?"

Simon whisks into the room, larger than life in one of my suit jackets and a pair of jeans. "With Daddy of course," he cries, snatching Cody up and swinging him onto his back. Cody shrieks, a giggle bubbling up in his throat as Simon spins.

Penelope tsks, waving her spatula around as Simon gets particularly daring while tossing our five year old into the air. "Boys," she exclaims. "That will be enough of that. The kids need to be fed before I head back over, and all four of you need a shower."

"But Penny," Simon whines, echoed by the wriggling girl in my arms.

"But Mummy," she bounces on my hip. "Daddy let me and Cody eat Lucky charms super late, so we're not hungry."

Simon shrinks away from the glares Penelope and I lob his way. "We were hungry," he shrugs, setting Cody down and sighing as he runs behind Penelope's leg. "Sure, leave me to deal with them all alone."

"Sorry Daddy." He squeaks, grinning widely as Penelope pets his hair.

"Okay," I let Tasha go over to her twin brother, watching as she links their hands, "why don't you two go up and play in your room? They'll be an extra hour of TV in it for you if no one breaks anything."

They're gone before I can finish the offer, racing up the stairs two at a time and giggling to one another. "And no magic!" Penelope screams after them, dropping the spatula down into the sink. Once I hear the switch of the television, I wheel around to scowl at Simon.

"Sit," I order, waving to one of the freshly vacated chairs. He inches over to them, plopping down and staring sullenly down at his hands. "You cannot keep obliging the twins' every whim like this."

"They were hungry, and you sleep like the dead. What was I supposed to do?"

"Send them off with a carrot stick, and ignore their crying," Penelope suggests. "Now, if you don't mind, I have another household of children to attend to, and a husband non too happy with me for leaving so early."

"Go on, I can handle the three of them."

She nods, patting Simon's shoulders before giving us a flutter of her fingers and going to the door. "I'll see you two in a little bit." She calls up the stairs. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

"You spoil them silly," I say as the door slams shut. "We'll end with a pair of brats if you aren't careful."

"A little spoiling's never done anyone any harm," he sidles up to me, hands resting loosely on my waist. "Besides, they're too good to be brats. They're part you after all."

"And part you." I add. "And, unfortunately, part Bunce."

"Exactly," he says happily, "the way I see it, they'll be perfectly fine, midnight snacking or otherwise."

"Simon, I'm begging you, for the sake of our children, to behave yourself. I'll get down on my hands and knees if that's what it takes."

"Baz please, save that for later." He winks. I almost reply, but then his lips are on mine, and I quite like my smirking, absurdly smug husband. I might even love him a bit.

 ** _…_**

I stopped being surprised by the trajectory of my life a long time ago, but if someone had told me that I would spend the rest of my eternity co-parenting a set of magical twins with Simon Snow-Pitch and Penelope Bunce, I would have laughed. And then vomited. And then wondered if the two of them had drugged me.

It started a year after Simon and I were married.

"How was the first day?" I asked, watching Simon bounce around the flat, buzzing with an uncontrollable energy.

"Great," he cried, "like, really, really great. I didn't think I would like it, but once we got there, it was just so…so…cool!"

Simon hadn't known what to do after graduation, and if it hadn't been for Stacy, he still would have been as listless and bored as before. She'd started at some nonsensically popular website soon after our wedding, and when Simon complained to her about his chronic unemployment, she'd offered to put a good word in.

And it was a rather good fit, it turned out.

"They don't want me to write, which is good since I'm shit at it. But they have these videos, where people just talk about stuff, or try new things."

"I've been on Buzzfeed before," I replied, flipping to the next page of my newspaper. "I know how it works."

He acted as if I hadn't spoken, flopping down beside me and curling his tail around my calf. "And there was this bloke, and he started singing. And he was good, and it was just like this normal day filled with incredible things."

He melted into my side, and his happiness was infectious. "I'm glad you like it, love."

Purring, he dragged his finger down the length of my palm. "Penny's coming over by the way."

"Is that your doing?"

He sat up, his smile dimming. "You don't want her here?"

"It's not her so much that I don't around, but the screaming newborn."

The door flew open, and Penelope scurried in, rocking the shrieking baby back and forth all while looking harried. "You shouldn't speak that way about your goddaughter."

"Simon's goddaughter," I corrected her. Simon leapt up from the couch, waiting for Penelope's nod before taking the baby, Alejandra, from her and rising until he hovered a foot above ground. The first time he'd done this, flown with the baby, Penelope had almost ruptured an instantly forming aneurism, but it calmed Alejandra when nothing else would.

Still, she murmured, " ** _Stuck Like Glue!"_** into her ring, cementing little baby Allie into Simon's arms, for the time being.

With him fluttering around, Penelope sank down beside me, her head lolling back as she shut her eyes. "You look particularly exhausted."

"I have a small child who doesn't sleep through the night," she bit out, "what's your excuse?"

"Touché, Bunce."

She exhaled heavily, her shoulders sagging. "He's good with her." She commented. "I haven't been able to get her to sleep in over fifteen hours. Five minutes with him, and she's quiet."

He was cooing to her, singing something soft and lilting that had Allie gurgling. He'd always been great with kids. Mordy loved him from the moment they met, Mori and Bella hung from his every word, and Daphne swore this wasn't true, but Nora's first words might have been his name.

I looked up at them through fresh eyes, the tender way he watched her hitting me like a punch to the stomach. He was good with her, painfully so.

"You can head into the room and get some sleep if you want, Penn." Simon swayed Allie, and a small smile passed over her tiny lips (although it was most definitely just gas).

"You are a Godsend," she cried, nearly in tears herself. "Micah should be by to pick her up in an hour, two tops. If she gets too fussy, wake me."

"I've got her," he said confidently. And my throat seized up, a knot forming that made it hard to swallow or breathe or think of anything else.

We went through the day without incident. Micah came after five hours, not two like our sleep-deprived witch promised, but Simon didn't want to let her go when it came time for her to go home with her parents.

"I can baby sit," he said, walking them to their car. They'd moved earlier in the year out to the suburbs, while Penelope was pregnant. (Something about not raising children in the city.) "It only takes me ten minutes to fly to your house." His eyes darted to me, and his lips pulled tight as he frowned. "Not that I do it often." He rushed to add. "No flying for me, unless completely necessary."

Micah, just as pale and haggard as his wife, stared blearily back at Simon. "I'm so tired I barely understand you."

"Sorry mate, but I'm not sure I trust you driving her home." He rubbed at his rings, chewing on the inside of his cheek. " ** _America Runs On Dunkin!"_**

Micah jumped, a jolt of caffeinated magic hitting him hard enough to put color back into his cheeks. "Thanks," he clapped his hand against Simon's shoulder, "but Penn's driving. We'll make it back in one piece."

"Still," Simon shrugged, "just want to make sure."

"And you're a good man for it," Micah replied, accepting the hand I offered him. "The both of you."

"Micah, let's go!"

"That's my cue," he winked, nodding to us both before jogging over to the lingering elevator.

We waited until they were gone before going back into the flat, taking up the same spaces as we had before Penelope trounced in. But something felt off, and I knew I wasn't the only one who noticed it.

Simon was drained, not exhausted exactly, just emptied out. More hollow than I'd seen him in a long time. He fell back onto the couch, his head resting on my lap and his eyelashes fluttering.

"All right, Simon?"

"Sure," he replied quietly, "just tired. Allie's a lot, even if she is the cutest."

I traced a finger along his forehead, smoothing out the crinkles I came across. Slowly, I searched for the right way to ask the question tearing a path through my mind. "Would you…?" I trailed off, frowning when I couldn't get it out, and he tilted his head back, watching me with curious eyes.

"Would I?" He urged me on, tail flicking about.

"Would you want one of those?" I asked, and he shoved back against the sofa cushion until he straightened up, his legs draping over mine. "You love kids, maybe more than you love scones."

"Don't be daft," he sniffed, "I love kids about as much as I love scones. And yeah, I guess I always thought we would have some. We've always talked about our family, and I just assumed it would be big."

"I don't mean some theoretical baby, some time off into the future." I clarified. "I mean now. Do you want one of those screaming, crying monsters currently stealing all the energy from our closest friends _now_?"

"Well, once you say it like that…" he rolled his eyes, swinging his legs off of mine and resting his elbows on his bouncing knees.

" _Simon_."

"Okay, yeah, I do." He glanced at me, his excitement and his terror dueling so obviously across his face. "But I just started a new job, and I'm pretty sure you hate that broker shit you do and just aren't telling me." A surprisingly astute observation. I was shocked. "And Penny and Micah have had three years to talk about all of this."

"Simon, we could spend hours picking at this, and deciding that it wouldn't be a good time. I'm _dead_ ; you're a bloody fool nine times out of ten. Those are two very real reasons why we shouldn't even consider this. But I saw you with Allie, and you glowed. If you love her that much, imagine a child of our own."

His stare stayed trained to the ground, but he couldn't keep from fidgeting. His fingers trembled, the air, thick with salt and sweat and hope, swirled around us thanks to those ridiculous wings. "I'm not the one who needs to be convinced."

"I want what you want," I gripped at his arm, and he bucked me off so I wouldn't feel how badly he was shaking. "No convincing required."

"Are you sure?" He asked uncertainly, staring back at me owlishly. "Because if you are, then yeah. _Yeah_ , let's have a baby."

We spent the next few weeks going over the different decisions we would have to make before doing something as huge as having a child. First, we talked to our friends. They weren't exactly receptive.

Stacy: "A baby?" She cried, "but we're the same age. And if you start having babies too, then that will make me old, and I'm not old. You can ask Steph, I'm far too flexible to be old."

Steph: "You two would make lovely parents," she said cautiously, "but a new baby will make it impossible for you to focus on getting into a good orchestra. And I know, I know, you said you were putting the violin on the backburner for the time being, but there's no way you stay with this whole economics thing."

Penelope (quite rudely if you'd ask me): "What part of the current state of my miserable existence do you want a part of? The waking up to shrieking at four in the morning, or constantly smelling of spit up? I adore Alejandra, don't get me wrong, but at this moment, I'm begging you, wait. I can't handle two babies, and I'll end up helping you fools. Now if you excuse me, I've got to go change her fourth diaper in two hours."

Micah: "I could be sleeping right now instead of having this conversation. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to go."

"This is hopeless," Simon moaned later, slumping onto the bed with a frown. "No one thinks we can do this."

"No," I corrected him, "they think we shouldn't for their own reasons. No one said we couldn't do it."

"But you see how exhausted Penny and Micah are," he argued, "and Steph's right too. You're just starting out in your career, and I haven't even got one. How could we take care of an actual human baby?"

I arched an eyebrow at him, batting at his tail as it zoomed past me. "As opposed to what other sort of baby, exactly?"

"Don't make fun of me," he huffed, "it isn't the time."

"You're genuinely worried about this?"

"Course I am," he exclaimed, slapping his hands against his face, "aren't you?"

Gently (or as gently as I could while avoiding decapitation from his lethally flicking tail), I pried his hands from his skin. "No," I said softly, "or, yes, I bloody am. And if it were anyone else, I would think I couldn't do it. But it's you, and it's me, and if we've managed to get on this long, we can do this." He stared at me with a frown puckering on his lips. "I hope," I tacked on as an afterthought. "Now, forget our friends, or what our family will think. We're going to have this baby, and at least one of us will be a fucking fantastic parent."

"Probably me," he sniffed, a mischievous smile moving over his mouth. "You're shit around children."

"I'm great around children," I waved away the insult, too ridiculous to warrant anger, "and I'm the only one out of the two of us who actually knows how to change a diaper."

"A match made in heaven, the two of us," he giggled, slipping his hands around me. "You can change their diapers, and I'll be around for the cute bits."

"This heaven is sort of like the nightmare I had the other night."

He kissed my cheek, pouncing up and going over to the fridge. "Sounds about right."

From there, we had to choose between the infinite options out there. Would we adopt (which Simon had no patience for. The lists they kept referring us to had us waiting years), or foster (after Simon's experience in the orphanage, we were all for giving someone a home they so desperately needed. But neither of us looked too great to fostering agencies. Young, listless, and there was the accompanying risk of us moving back to England) or find a surrogate.

Unsurprisingly, it was Penelope who provided us with a solution.

 ** _…_**

* * *

 ** _PENELOPE_**

"Micah," I call, closing the door behind me and walking into the living room. The television is blaring, there's the making of an argument brewing in the air, and someone's burnt something in the kitchen.

I'm gone for half an hour, and the house has _already_ devolved into chaos.

"In the kitchen!"

I follow the path to Micah's voice, smiling down at the brown-headed children that race past me. "Thomas, be careful with your brother," I remind my eldest son, watching as he tackles James despite my warnings.

Micah smiles at me when I step into the kitchen, blinking away the lingering effects of sleep from his eyes. "They didn't like the breakfast."

"You aren't the only one having trouble," I tilt my chin up, accepting the kiss he places on the tip of my nose. "The twins were just as difficult this morning." He hums, and I search for tightness in the set of his jaw or the flare in his nostrils. The mention of the twins used to send him into his version of a rage, absolute silence. His face would betray him because his words could not.

The leaden ball in my stomach disappears when the only response I catch is the crinkle in his eyes. Fondness. Not love, that will still take time, especially with how we all got here, but affection is decidedly better than revulsion.

 ** _…_**

In hindsight, I didn't have to offer what I did. When asked, I blame how painfully sleep-deprived I was at the time, but I've never needed much sleep, especially when making big decisions.

"Penelope, no."

He was pacing along the floor, wearing a path into the carpet. I wished he'd stop, it was making it hard to think. "I have to do this Micah, and I need you to understand."

"You're not at Watford anymore, you don't have to sacrifice everything for Simon Snow."

I shook my head, my hair falling into my face. I thought it might be time to get another cut, maybe a new color. I hadn't done silver yet, but what would happen when Allie grew old enough to want to copy me? How exactly would I explain her luminescent head to my mother? I could hear it now, _Penelope Padma Bunce, what on earth have you done to my granddaughter?_

"That's what you don't get Micah. I'm not sacrificing anything, I'm giving these two people that I love more than anything in the world something that they deserve."

"It would be our child." He said it scathingly, as if he would somehow be able to change my mind with that tone. If anything, it steeled my resolve. "Allie's little brother or sister."

"It would be their child, I'm just donating some DNA."

"I don't get how you do this," he sat beside me, resting his head in his hands. "I don't get how you can let him take and take and never want anything back."

I longed for the perfect way to explain why I was willing to do something this monumental. I knew that it would be hard, that child would be half Snow-Pitch, but also half me and no matter how close I was to them, I would still have to walk away. But they were the _only_ people I could ever do this for.

"They'll be wonderful parents," was the only explanation I could find. There weren't words to describe how free Simon was now that the world doesn't rest on his shoulders. He just turned into a large kid, something he never got the chance to be. He had this joy about him, this energy that a child would love. And he would love them right back, would put everything he had into making sure that they didn't grow up the way he had.

And Baz. I only had to remember the way he looked at Simon, and the choice was simple. Simon was more than the moon to him, more than the sun. He was every star and the space in between, he was the planets and the black holes and the comets. He was Baz's entire universe. He'd love him and he would protect his family for as long as he was allowed. And for a vampire, that would be forever.

"I don't know if I can support this."

In the back of my mind, I'd come to that conclusion as soon as I brought this up. Micah loved me, I knew he did, but there was only so much he could manage. And ever since moving out here, I'd been waiting for him to run out of patience.

Maybe it was time I gave him an out. "You do what you have to do, and I'll do the same."

He stared at me hard, Allie sleeping peacefully in the crock of my elbow. "You said you loved them more than anything," he said slowly, "but that can't be true now that she's here. Please, I know they're family to you, but so are we. Think of us too."

And I did. For hours, and days, and weeks, until my mind was made.

"I thought you living in Long Island would mean that we would see less of you," Baz said, his head darting up as I let myself into their apartment.

"Is Simon here?" I asked, ignoring his quip. "There's something I need to say, and I need you both around to do it."

He frowned, tossing his head over the back of the couch. "Simon," he called, "get out here."

"What's up, I was busy," he padded into the living room, donning only a pair of boxers and ridiculously large headphones. "Oh, hey Penny. I didn't know you were coming over."

I gestured over to the couch, waiting for him to sit. "I hadn't planned on it, but there's something you should know, and I couldn't hold it in any longer. I completely support you two having a child, and I have a way you can do it."

Simon perked up instantly, leaning forward and eagerly awaiting my next words. "Well, get on with it," Baz snapped, "the suspense may murder Simon, and I quite like him so you see why I can't allow that."

Sighing, I let the book in my arms fall onto the table. "Okay, so when Micah and I were married, we initially thought that we would put off having children for a while. Micah wanted to finish off his grad schoolwork, I was considering applying for a few graduate programs myself. And the more we talked, the more it seemed that our careers would come before children for the next decade at least.

"At the time, a woman was giving a seminar over at NYU on freezing eggs, so that waiting to begin a family wouldn't be as much of a concern. And I didn't want to have to worry about it in the long run, so I did it."

"But you have Allie," Simon so helpfully pointed out, interrupting me in the process, "doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of all that?"

"It does," I confirmed. "I was thinking that maybe I would donate them, but I just haven't had the time to sort through all the paperwork, or all that much incentive to, if I'm being completely honest. Until _now_."

There was a sharp inhale, and when I turned to Baz, the color leached from his face. Simon, though, stared back at me dumbly, not quite understanding. "What's that got to do with us?"

"She wants us to have them," Baz answered for me, his voice monotone as he processed. "She wants to help us have a baby."

"I've done all the research," I rushed to continue before Simon could reply, reaching for the book I'd brought and flipping through it frantically. "I've got a list of surrogates I thought you would get along with, and the ratings of the best fertility clinics in the area. The only thing you have to do is say yes, or no, if that's what you choose."

Baz grabbed for the book, scanning the pages and pages of information, but Simon was immobile. I touched his hand, smoothing my thumb along the metal of my ring with my free hand.

"Simon?" I said quietly. "Is this a terrible idea?"

He grimaced, shaking off my hand before lurching into me, his hug strong enough to knock me back. "No," he said thickly, "just – this is – you don't – _thanks_."

Simon was the most grateful, but Baz was the one who took my research and executed it. He contacted all the surrogates, settling for a nice, but excessively bland, girl named Sarah who needed the money to start taking classes next year. Baz moved her into the spare bedroom, preparing her for what would happen when they went into the clinic for the implantation.

"So how does this work?" Simon had asked the week prior, holding onto a small cup and blushing furiously.

Baz, looking just as uncomfortable, sneered. "All you've got to do is wank off and have it land in the cup. I've seen you do it countless times, I know you know how."

I cleared my throat, making them both jump. "And why exactly are you doing it too, Basilton? Can vampires even have children?"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" He bit out. "If anything, I'll be able to pretend there was a chance of me being the actual father." Simon pursed his lips, scratching at his curls, and Baz groaned. "Did you read the pamphlets I brought home?"

"Of course I read the pamphlets," Simon snapped back, folding his arms over his chest. "But it wouldn't hurt to explain it. For Penelope's sake, I mean."

"Right," I drawled out, rolling my eyes. "Please explain it to him before he gets a headache."

Baz snorted, and Simon sulked. "Fine. They'll take these cups once they're full, mix them together, fertilize the eggs and then put them in Sarah. That way neither of us will know who the actual father is."

"Except we will know." Simon said. "It'll be easy enough to tell later on."

"Maybe," Baz shrugged, "we'll be able to guess if it comes out with blue eyes."

"Or a smart mouth."

"Or those idiotic curls."

"Or that punishment of a widow's peak."

"You love my widow's peak."

"That I do."

Standing, I reached forward and jerked them apart. "Unless the flirting will quicken this particular part of the process, I'm going to have to insist that you both go to your receptive bathrooms and be done with all of this already."

And they did, the two of them flustering about with ruddy cheeks and shy smiles as we drove back. It would have been nauseating if not for the fact that it was for a good cause.

We knew that the implantation of the embryos had been successful about two months later when Sarah was vomiting up the breakfast Baz made for her and complaining about the fit of her jeans.

We didn't find out that it was twins though for another three.

"Two heartbeats," the doctor pointed at the two grainy lumps on the screen of the sonogram. "I'm surprised it took us so long to confirm it, but these guys are tricky. You'll have your hands full." She laughed.

She let herself out of the room, and Simon turned to me in a panic. "Two babies?" He cried, softly so that Sarah wouldn't hear us, "I'll barely be able to handle one baby, and now there are two?" He glanced at Baz, searching for some soothing words I'm sure, but even he seemed stricken.

"What the fuck are we going to do?" He whispered, sucking hard on his fangs.

I snapped, drawing their manic gazes to me. "You'll be the amazing fathers you always planned on being, just for two instead of one. We've come too far now for you to start having doubts."

"Not doubts," Baz hissed, "just tiny concerns that as soon baby Bunce one and two burst out, we'll immediately fuck them up."

"Not possible," I sniffed, "not if I'm there."

It was getting harder and harder to separate myself from what was happening. I went to every sonogram, I passed along my maternity clothing to Sarah, I talked names with Simon. I would pass the spare room beside Allie's and think of the perfect way to fit two cribs in there before remembering that they wouldn't be staying with me. They wouldn't be _mine._

"I don't know how to help you, Penn," Micah murmured when he found me crying one evening. We'd been walking on eggshells around one another, only completely together when it came to Allie. "I _warned_ you about this."

"That's exactly what this situation needs," I laughed bitterly, "an I-told-you-so."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes trained to the ground as he forced himself to walk away.

I think Simon realized it was getting to me soon after that, because one evening when were discussing the merits of different brands of diapers, he suddenly sobered up.

"Me and Baz were talking last night," he started, pushing aside his beer, "and I just wanted to say thanks again for this."

"I might have to spell you mute if you plan on thanking me for the rest of our lives."

"That wasn't the end of it," he growled, bumping his shoulder into mine. "We also were talking about how hard this must be for you, since they're your babies too."

"No," I said quickly, clasping onto my wineglass so my hands wouldn't tremble, "they aren't. They were my eggs, but those babies are all yours."

Narrowing his eyes, Simon gave a firm shake of his head. "That's not true, and you know it. And we just wanted to let you know that you can be as involved in all of this as you want. I know Allie's still a lot to manage, but the twins are going to know all about what you did for us, and they're going to know you're their mum. And that's not ever going to change. They're mine and Baz's, but they're yours too, if you want them."

And of course I did. _Of course I did_.

I nodded, and just like he had all those months ago when I stepped into their flat with the offer that started it all, he leaped up to hug me, spilling wine everywhere without the slightest of cares.

* * *

 ** _SIMON_**

"You know what I want," I said as Baz and I walked back from the coffee machine to the waiting room. "I like the name Cherry. I've always liked the name Cherry, and that won't change just because you scowl."

"It's as much Penny's decision as it is ours, and she hates it too."

"Well she said she didn't like the name Emaline, so that's gone then."

Baz scrunched his nose, taking a sip of the coffee and then making a face. "I wasn't serious about Emaline, even if it's a perfectly lovely name."

We found empty chairs and sat, the events of the day finally washing over us now that there was a level of peace.

Sarah had been in labor for the past four hours, and it seemed as if we would be there all night. Penny was in there with her right now, giving us fifteen minutes for a small break from the _insanity_ that was the delivery room. Micah hadn't been home when Sarah's water had broken, and Penny didn't want to bring a two-year-old to the hospital, so she could only come now.

Baz let his head fall back against the wall, and when I clenched my hands, I felt the rings press into my fingers. "I've got an idea," I said suddenly, and it was so _simple_ , I was surprised I hadn't thought of it earlier.

Sixteen hours and many squeezed hands later, we sat on the floor of the delivery room, drained.

"That was excellent, Sarah," the doctor said, patting her knee before moving down to us. "I'd like to introduce you to your son," Baz scrambled up from the floor, holding his breath as he took the baby held out to him, "and your daughter." Penny nodded to me, beaming.

"Take her," she urged when I didn't move, "my arms are too tired to hold her anyway."

I stood slowly, careful not to move or even blink too quickly as the doctor set her in my arms. "She's _still_ crying," I said nervously, "why is she still crying?"

"She's not used to it out here," the doctor laughed, taking a napkin and brushing it tenderly across her face. "Give her a little bit of time." I peeked at Baz through the corner of my eyes, and I could see my terror written all over his face. "What have you decided to name them?"

Baz shuffled over to Sarah, shifting the baby gently from his arms over to hers. "This is Nicodemus Butter Snow-Pitch.

"And this," I breathed as the baby in my arms opened her eyes, bright blue irises darting around before they settled on my face, "is Natasha Cherry Snow-Pitch."

It took a bit of convincing to get Penny on board with Nicodemus. "Why in the world would we name him after one of the greatest disgraces in magick?"

Baz brought his finger to his lips, glancing pointedly at Sarah, who slept soundly. She deserved the rest after the past day. Shit, I guess after the past nine _months_. "Nicodemus helped me find my mother's murderer. He helped save Simon that day."

"And it's the best way I know to honor Ebb," I finished for him. "She loved her brother more than anything in the world, and she would have loved the twins too."

"You could always just give him her name," she murmured. Baz rolled his eyes, and she sighed, considering it for a moment, before nodding. "I suppose it's all right. We'll call him Cody." When I began to protest, she glowered at me. "We'll call him _Cody_." She repeated, leaving no room for argument. "Now, I'm going to go call Micah, let him know everything went well. And the girls will want to know too."

With her gone, Baz scooted closer to me, his body relaxing as I leaned into him. "We're parents." He said, and no two words were ever as massive. If it was a spell, it would have changed the fate of the entire universe, made it so the rest of the world would know how we felt in this moment. "Fuck."

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

 ** _…_**

Tasha finds me in the master bedroom, climbing up onto the bed and nestling down at my side with a giggle. We moved soon after they were born, suddenly understanding the need to go somewhere quieter with two babies who could never sleep at the same time. Luckily for us, there was a house for sale on Penny's street (both Baz and Penelope swear that there was no magic involved, and some days I almost believe them), so we left the city and never looked back. "Daddy," she says, pushing at the mass of light brown curls that tumble into her face. We'll have to cut it one day, but Penny likes it long, and after lengthy arguments between her and Baz, it was decided that she dealt with all major grooming decisions.

"Yes, Berry?"

"I'm not berry," she giggles, nuzzling her cheek against my wing, "I'm cherry!"

"You're right, love. I'm sorry. Yes, my sweet Cherry?"

"Can I practice my magic? Fahfy took Cody over to Mummy's other house to play with James and Thomas."

"You didn't want to spend time with Allie?"

Her lips turn down as she tries for an imitation of Baz's sneer. "Allie's mean to me. She picks on me and she never lets me play with any of her games ever since I beat her at connect-four."

"Is that right?"

She nods precociously. "I'd much rather stay here with you. Fahfy never lets me do magic. Neither does Mummy, but you will." She flutters her eyelashes, long and impossibly curled, and I wonder how it's possible to be manipulated by someone literally a fraction of my age. A _tiny_ fraction.

"One spell," I say, grinning as she squeals, springing onto her feet and closing her eyes. "How about that one I taught you last week?"

Bouncing, she brings her hands up until they hover over me. " ** _Warm and Toasty!"_** She says brightly, and a rush of warmth courses through me. Cracking her eyes open, she waits for my smile before standing taller, chest puffing out with pride.

"So good, baby girl," I say, grabbing for her ankle and listening to her laugh as she falls. Hopefully then she won't notice how terrified I am.

 ** _…_**

Tasha was always the leader between her and Cody. She walked first, she talked first, and one day last year after I used a spell to heat up a plate, she closed her eyes and parroted me. And the damn house nearly caught on fire.

"Baz," I hissed into the phone, watching as she and Cody played, crashing toy cars into their legs. "Get home, now!"

By the time he burst through the door, Penny was already there, chewing on her nails with a six-year-old Allie leading the twins through a game of tag. "What happened?" He asked, sniffing the air and cringing. I hadn't been able to completely clear the smoke from the air. "Why did you sound so panicked on the phone?"

"It's Tasha," I whispered, giving her a bright smile when she looked up at the sound of her name. "She did _magic_."

He shook his head, frowning. "That's not possible, she doesn't have a wand yet."

"Hence the frantic call," Penny answered. "This is _bad_."

"This is _impossible_ ," Baz shot back. "You both are just overreacting. It was probably something you did." He said, jerking his chin at me. "And I'll prove it." Crouching, he called for Tasha, grinning as she skipped over to him.

"Yes, Fahfy?" She said angelically.

Cody glanced at us, grey eyes suspicious. He didn't like to be left out, especially when his sister was involved. He toddled over, and I reached for him, lifting him up and digging the tip of my nose into his hair. It was so soft, black and feathery and glossy like Baz's.

"Don't call me that, sweetie," he said, looking back at us darkly. "Would you like to see a trick?" She nodded eagerly, and within seconds a ball of fire hovered over his palm.

"Whoa," Cody breathed, squirming to get closer. I clung on tighter, taking a step back. A side effect of having a vampire as a father is that we never let him near fire.

"Can you do me a quick favor?" Baz continued. "I want you to try and put it out. Think about it disappearing and then say **_Make A Wish!_** Think you can do that?"

She nodded again, pleased to be given something to do. "All right, I'm ready," She lifted her hands and closed her eyes. " ** _Make A Wish!"_** She said, and we felt it move through the room. It was a wave washing away everything on the sand, taking the fire along with it.

If my magic was a hurricane in the middle of the ocean, hers was the beach, powerful and calm. And incredible. And _dangerous_.

Baz lurched back, barely managing to stay on his feet. "That's not right," he murmured, "you _shouldn't_ be able to –"

Tasha watched him, tears filling her eyes at an alarming rate. "I did what you asked," she said shakily, and Penny swept her up just as she began to cry.

"Fahfy didn't mean to make you sad," Penny cooed, scowling at us both, "don't mind him." She walked her onto the patio.

Cody wriggled in my arms. "Can I have an ice pop?"

"Once you clean up all your books," I set him down and nudged him towards the TV room. "Go on."

"Aleister almighty, what are we going to do?" Baz asked once we were alone, and he looked as lost as I felt.

"I don't know," I shrugged, trying to breathe. There was something on my chest, something heavy and thick and taunting that was making it hard to catch my breath. This was my fault.

It had to be. Because Tasha was mine, it was easy enough to see in the moles that patterned her caramel skin, and the blue of her eyes and the ridiculous curls sprouting from her scalp. Cody was normal, perfect, but normal. He was the best of Penny and Baz, curious and thoughtful and brave. And that kept him from danger.

But not Tasha. Sweet, funny, boisterous Tasha. Who sang during her bath and splashed Baz even though he insisted on wearing his nice shirts straight from work. Who stayed up with her brother if he had a bad dream. Who would spend the rest of her life hiding a part of who she was. Our Tasha.

Shit, this was my _fault_.

It didn't take us long to realize that we couldn't let her do magic, not now. Penny gave her a ring that used to be her grandmother's strung on a chain and hung it around her neck. But it was just in case Tasha couldn't help herself and practiced the spells she knew. Kids rarely started feeling their magic this young, but people could get over that initial shock. If anyone say her doing magic without a magical heirloom, they would whisk her away to somewhere so dark and so underground, we would never see her again.

 ** _…_**

Penny and Baz are stricter with her, but it's moments like this where I can't help but indulge her. Because she loves magic, I can feel it whenever she gets a glimmer in her eyes or practically spills over with energy. It makes up a lot of her, just like it made up almost all of me, and sometimes I wonder if the prophecy hadn't gotten it doubly wrong. That maybe I hadn't been the greatest mage of all time at all.

That if all the evil and all the fighting had just waited a generation, it would have been a fairer fight. And the World of Mages would have had the Chosen One they deserved.

"Okay," I clap, shaking away my thoughts, "time to get dressed. We need to be at Mummy's in a hour if you want to be a part of the party."

She looks at me the way Penny used to when she thought I was being daft. "Of course I want to be a part of the party. I've got a special dress and everything."

"Then go on, little miss," I pat her back, and she slips off the bed, "I'm leaving in fifteen minutes, with or without you."

"You got put in time out the last time you did that," she sings, "Fahfy said if you did it again, he would eat you."

I chase after her, diving down to the floor before she manages to run into her room. She shrieks, landing hard on my stomach as we both tumble to the ground. "Your father is all talk," I say, hefting her up into the air, "and no bite."

"He's a vampire," she reminds me, and I grunt as she gets me in the arm with her tiny feet. "Vampires eat people."

"Vampires suck the blood of very mean people, no eating involved."

"Oh." I set her of her feet and she skips into her room. "You're not mean, so I guess it'll be okay. Anyways, I'll be ready, and you're not even wearing pants."

I look down, and sure enough, I've still only got my Tuesday boxers on. "Get on with it, Daddy. Fahfy said you couldn't be on time even if someone lit a fire under your bum."

Grumbling, I stand, glowering at the door as it begins to swing shut. "Damn Baz, plotting to turn the kids against me."

"That's a _bad_ word!" She screams, peeking out to give me a reproachful look.

"Well, no one likes a tattletale," I poke my tongue out at her, "now, that's enough out of you. You now have ten minutes to get ready, be snappy."

We don't leave for another half an hour, much to Tasha's obvious glee. She can't find her left shoe; I can't find the house keys. It isn't until she tells me to check my coat pocket that my fingers brush against cool metal.

"No telling anyone about this either," I growl, making sure the door is locked before taking her hand. "Got it?"

"Got it," she replies with a downward jerk of her chin.

"Nice of you two to finally join us," Baz says once we let ourselves into Penny's house. The party's in full swing, people spilling out onto the patio and lounging around in the kitchen.

"Daddy wasn't ready in time," Tasha says, shrugging off her jacket once he unzips it for her. "And he told me not to tell you."

"Did he now?"

She nods dutifully, blinking innocently up at me. "He also said the p-word."

"I suppose that means he owes a dollar to the swear job, doesn't he?"

"You two are against me," I growl, "this isn't fair." I take her jacket, draping it over my arm and pointing over to where Cody sits, half a burger in his hands and ketchup dripping from his chin. "Go eat with your brother, unless there're any of my other secrets you feel like telling Fahfy?"

Tapping her chin, she thinks it over carefully. "No," she says, "I'm done." With that, she runs outside, banging into Micah's leg with a laugh. Stacy sees her first, pushing away her wineglass so she can crouch down beside her. Steph is soon to follow, the both of them marveling at whatever it is Tasha's saying. I'm sure it's something great, Tasha's always been best when she's in front of her fans.

"So what exactly was I plotting this time?" Baz asks, pulling my eyes over to him. He's amused, biting down on his tongue to keep from smiling. "World domination, or your ultimate demise?"

"Worse, a way to make it so that I only ever get lip from the twins." He laughs and it makes me frown. "I'm serious! They see me as some big playmate, and it's your doing."

"Not a playmate exactly," he muses, "more like a somewhat intelligent pet."

"Fuck off," I snarl, no real venom in my voice. "If anything, we're _both_ very intelligent pets."

He hums, and we both turn at the sound of a gasp. James must have fallen because he's close to tears, so Tasha leans down beside him with her lips pressed together, and before I can blink, a cupcake appears in her hands. Steph, who Stacy sat down and finally revealed magic to years before, twists back to gawk at us, eyes wide and astonished. She knows enough to realize that no one should be able to do that, least of all my five-year-old.

"We're well screwed, aren't we?" I murmur, my chest aching as Tasha hands James the cupcake, smiling brightly.

Baz nods, swallowing roughly. "That we are. But there isn't anyone I'd rather be screwed with."

It's enough to get a laugh, and I fall against him. "You're so cheesy it makes me want to vomit."

"And I'd probably be the one to clean it up." He bucks me off, smoothing the hair away from his face. "Come on, let's go get our girl before she magicks the entirety of a bake shop into Bunce's backyard."

"Would that be so terrible?"

"Shut up, Simon."

 **.**

 **..**

 **...**

 **A/N: Anddddddd, I'm done! I hope you enjoyed this Snowbaz domesticity dump! And, I'm not saying that I may or may not have started a certain sequel centered around a certain pair of magickal twins...but I'm also not saying that so you haven't seen the last of me!**


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